The Mills Clan
by TheLoveOfApples
Summary: The first time I saw Regina Mills, she saved my life..The second time I saw her, I died. That was the thing about Regina. Every moment around her was life and death, seconds and decisions that could never be predicted. But even after all of that, I can still say that she was worth it. Happy Ending! SQ-AU. Based explicitly off of the novel Eternal Hotel, just with my own OUAT twist.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Depression triggers!**

**This first chapter is a little sad, but unfortunately it's neccesary for the background of the fic, but if you just stick with it, it'll get better, I promise! :)**

**(But, if you really don't want to read the sad part, skip down to the triple lined page break and start from there.) **

* * *

My life before working at the Mills Hotel was a sad blur.

My long-term girlfriend, Anna, and I had been together for two years. I loved her. I had thought that we were going to be together forever.

But one night, on the way back from the grocery store, her bicycle was hit by a drunk driver, and in a heartbeat, my life was changed forever.

I don't remember much about the months after Anna died. I suppose that i got up as I always did, got dressed in my green apron and walked the two blocks to the little boutique grocery store, Rosa's, on the upscale side of town where I worked. I would go through my shift as their produce manager, which involved a lot of ordering different vegetables, arranging them in pretty, enticing rows and disposing of the rotting ones.

After my shift, I'd come home, back to my too-empty apartment with a bag of slightly wilted vegetables that were still edible, but now too ugly to sell.

I'd go through the motions of making dinner, of forcing myself to eat it.

I'd curl up on the bed.

Our bed.

And I'd cry myself to sleep.

I did that for six months, but I don't remember hardly any of it.

I'd ask myself on really hard nights, nights when I wondered where my life was going, what I was doing with it, how had this all happened, this radical departure from how i'd assumed life was _supposed_ to be.

On the darkest, hardest nights, I wondered if I'd really loved Anna.

The thing is, I knew I had. I'd loved her deeply.

I'd been hoping to spend the rest of my life with her.

But in really terrible moments of weeping over the spaghetti at the now too-big kitchen table, far too big for only one person, I wondered if - when Anna died - she'd taken the best parts of my life with her.

That's the thing. Without Anna, I was just Emma Swan. Boring Emma Rose Swan who wore her boring blonde hair in the same ponytail since high school. Who had worked at Rosa's since graduating from college.

I was a produce manager with a useless bachelor's in art history. I had no dreams, no aspirations. It was pathetic.

_I_ was pathetic.

Life had come up too fast and too quickly, and it had hit me broadside.

Part of me thought that I was still in college, dreaming of the time I'd graduate, that I'd do something exciting with my degree, perhaps move to New York and work in a museum finding interesting and beautiful new discoveries from famous painters. Change the world, if only a little.

But I was never going to change my life that drastically. I was never going to move to New York. _Adventurous _people moved to New York.

And I had never been very adventurous.

I'd lived in Greensprings all my life. Greensprings is in New Hampshire, close to the border of Massachusetts, and it's very beautiful here. But it's a town that people drive through on their way to more beautiful and more interesting locations.

No one knows where Greensprings actually is and no one sets out to find it.

It's one of those very quaint towns that on TV, people set wacky sitcoms in, and growing up, I'd had more fantasies that I'd get a condo in the upscale part of it, live a bohemian lifestyle that involved a lot of painting and wine and women. But I couldn't paint. And before Anna, I couldn't keep a girlfriend to save my life.

I was pretty good at the wine part.

Sometimes I hated how boring I was, my safe decisions that meant that I'd live in Greensprings all my life, that I would continue to live in Greensprings probably until the day I'd die.

Anna was going to change that. She'd wanted to move to New York too, and we'd been saving money together for just that purpose. We were going to move together, rent a probably much-too-small apartment and then...we didn't know. But we often talked about that dream long into the night.

Let's be honest: it was mostly Anna's dream. But I was so happy. Glad to go along with it. Anna had that way about her. A big, wide smile and twinkling brown eyes that promised that if you'd trust her, everything was going to be all right.

But Anna was dead now. And everything was most certainly not all right.

I knew that I was spiraling into a depression that I might not ever recover from, but I didn't know how to stop it. I didn't know if I even wanted to stop it. What was my life without Anna?

* * *

.

* * *

.

* * *

And then, one day, Ruby called.

I hadn't seen her since the funeral. My best friend since college, Ruby was always the brave one, the one who took risks, went to exotic, daring places. When I saw her name on my cell's caller ID, I wondered, as I pressed the phone to my ear, where she'd be calling me from. With Ruby, you could never be sure if she was down the street, in another country, or even on this planet (she'd reminded me more than once on an all-night cramming session in school that someday they'd probably sell seats on a rocket to the moon: and she'd be first in line to buy one. I didn't doubt that for a second.)

"Hi, honey!" Ruby said, the line crackling with all the static of a terrible connection. "It's been forever, how _are_ you?"

Oh, that question.

People ask you that question all the time, but they don't really want to hear the real answer - they're just doing it because it's something we're taught to say. Every day, regulars at the grocery store would brush past me in the aisle to get their stalks of brussels sprouts and their kohlrabi, and they'd ask me that question.

And if I broke down, if I told them that I was doing terribly, that my girlfriend had been hit by a drunk driver and died and I was falling to pieces because of it, they'd back away slowly, maybe never come to the grocery store again.

So I always lied to them, told them I was "fine." They didn't really want to know how I was doing. Few people in the world cared enough for the truth.

But Ruby did.

I broke down, trying to keep the majority of my tears in check, but she heard my little hiccup-sob on the other end of the line, even over all of the static, and she made a little gasp of her own.

"Oh, honey, I'm so sorry," said Ruby, and I knew that she meant every word of it. "Please don't cry. I'm so sorry. Is it really bad? You're not even a little okay?"

No. I wasn't. I was falling to pieces. I took a deep breath, the sound of it catching in the back of my throat as I grappled with words, trying to figure out what exactly I could tell Ruby that would convey...everything.

"Things are pretty bad," is what I settled on, then.

It wasn't much, but it was all I could say as I wrestled with the tears and the sobs, trying to keep the last bits of myself together. And failing.

"I wish so much that I could be there right now, You don't know how much I wish that," she said softly, her words as soothing as a cool cloth to my forehead.

I sighed, holding the cell phone tightly to my ear, like a lifeline thrown to a drowning man at sea. "That's...actually the reason I'm calling honey," she said then. The words were still sincere, still soft and gentle. But they were beginning to take a slightly wheedling quality that made me blink.

Ruby wanted something.

"What is it?" I managed, taking another tissue out of one of the ten boxes on the coffee table, wiping my nose, my eyes, my face. I crumpled the tissue in my hand as silence continued on the other end of the line.

Until: "I want you to come to Maine."

They were absolutely crazy words, but she'd said them so sincerely, one might almost have taken her seriously.

I snorted into the phone, lying back against our couch.

My couch...I tried to swallow the sob that escaped my throat, but didn't quite manage.

"Look, I know you're going through a really rough patch right now. But you and I both know that there's nothing in Greensprings to keep you there, and to be perfectly honest, I think a little change in scenery would be _really_ good for you. I read a book about grieving - you know, the one that I recommended to you that you wouldn't read? It said that getting out of your usual patterns will help you make some sense of the tragedy, might help you get back to living your life -"

I would never be able to make _any_ sense of the tragedy. And I was honestly uncertain if there was any life to get back to living. I was shaking my head, wanted to change the subject, but she couldn't hear that on the other end of the line. So I said, clearing my throat: "What are you doing in Maine?"

Ruby snorted a little. "Haven't you been reading _any_ of my emails?"

I stared at the laptop on the kitchen table, untouched for weeks. "No," I sighed truthfully.

"I got a new job," said Ruby then, her voice dropping a little in excitement, as if she was telling me a secret. "Em, It's the best job I've _ever had_. It's unreal. I'm working at this old hotel in a really cute little town - It's right on the ocean. In _Maine_! It looks like an old black and white movie should be set here, seriously. The hotel is this gorgeous old building right on a cliff face overlooking the water - it's just too pretty for words. I keep thinking I'm going to run into Scarlet O'Hara or the Queen of England or something in the hallways, and -"

"Wait, wait, wait," I finally manage, holding up my hand the clutches the tissue. "What are you doing working in a hotel?"

"I work the front desk, It's the easiest job in the world. The hotel's kind of in an out-of-the-way town, and -"

"Where is it?"

"In Maine, silly! I just said, and -"

"Where in Maine?" I persisted.

"It's kind of a stupid name for a town," said Ruby with a little laugh. "It sounds like a soap opera should be set here or something. It doesn't sound real. But the hotel is in Storybrooke."

Storybrooke. She was right. It _didn't _sound real. But when Ruby said that word, a little chill ran through me - the kind that made the hairs on my arms stand up, my shoulders give a little shake of their own accord.

My mother used to say that this was the kind of feeling you got when someone walked over your grave. I never knew exactly what she meant by that. I wasn't dead yet. I didn't even have a grave. But there was such an odd chill that moved through me in that moment, it felt as if I did have a grave. And someone had very deliberately waltzed over the top of it.

"Huh," was the dubious response I gave into the phone.

"The thing is, the place is normally completely dead, so not that much help is needed, even though the hotel is huge. Because, really, we maybe get like a guest a week. But there's some conference or other that's coming to Storybrooke this next month...October," said Ruby.

On the other end of the line, I could hear her shuffling through some papers. "And my boss needs to take on a few more staff, she tells me. And she asked me if I could recommend anyone to her, and I..." There was a very long sigh through the phone. "To be honest, I recommended you."

"What?" The floor began to roll beneath me. "But I...I already have a job. I work at Rosa's," I spluttered. There were so many reasons why this was ludicrous; I almost didn't even know where to begin. "Ruby, I mean, I've worked at Rosa's for so long, and..."

"And? It's a grocery store, Em. You're not exactly on the fast track to success at a grocery store." She didn't mean to sound condescending, but it had come out that way, regardless.

"That's rotten. You know that's rotten," I told her softly. A snort came from the other end of the phone.

"Honey, if I don't tell you this, _no one's_ going to tell you this. So it's sort of my duty as your best friend to tell you that if you, Emma Swan, don't leave Greensprings now? You're never going to leave it.

You're going to stay there forever with your grief." She said these words gently, but there was a hard edge to the last few of them.

"I know Anna's death was very, very hard on you, and I'm so sorry. But it's been six months. Anna died. You didn't. You've got to keep living, honey. You've got to decide that you want to keep living, and you've got to make the decision right now." There was a long pause, and then she finally said, simply, "Anna wouldn't have wanted this for you, honey. All Anna ever wanted was for you to be happy."

I didn't know what to say.

So I said nothing. After another long moment of silence, Ruby sighed again. "Look, it's the easiest job in the world. It's such a beautiful town. I know your apartments lease is on a month-to-month basis, so that would be insanely easy to get out of. I know that if you absolutely hated it here in Storybrooke, and went back to Greensprings, Rosa's would take you back in a heartbeat, so that's insanely easy, too."

"Em, honey, you have absolutely, positively nothing to lose, and pretty much everything to gain. And I could help you get through the rough spots; get you to start living again. Aaaaand..." She trails off, her voice dropping to a whisper again. "I wasn't going to bring it up, but I'm pulling out the big guns of convincing here."

She cleared her throat, and I could hear her smile through the phone. "If you ever _are_ ready again, for...well. I just want you to know that there are some _ridiculously _gorgeous ladies here."

I couldn't believe that she'd said that. It had only been _six months_. And I was fairly certain that I was never going to date anyone else _ever again_. But as I opened my mouth to tell her "no," that the whole thing was a terrible, no-good, rotten bad idea, I took a deep breath.

I looked up.

I looked up at the apartment. At what had been _our _apartment.

Every last thing here reminded me of Anna. The now-empty peg on the wall by the door where she'd hung her jean jacket. Her set of car keys with the ridiculous Pooh Bear keychain, sitting in the pottery bowl by the door. Her old plaid work shirt that she'd left on the counter the night of the accident that I'd never had the heart to move.

I knew what I was doing, had done, to the place where we'd lived.

I'd turned it into a shrine of her.

I was never going to move on with my life while living here.

I knew that.

And Ruby knew that, too."

"Please" Ruby says quietly. Softly. "Please, Em. Give this a chance."

I couldn't believe it when I said it. But I'd said it, and there was no going back now.

I whispered, simply, "Okay."

* * *

A/N: Sorry for all the sadness! More about Regina in the next chapter! And some Emma and Ruby cuteness, friendship wise of course :)

DISCLAIMER: I own none of the characters mentioned, and most of the story belongs to Bridget Essex who wrote the Novel, Eternal Hotel, that I'm basing this off of. The only thing that I own is how I decide to incorporate all the OUAT characters within the storyline. I just thought that this story could be a cute twist when mixed with SwanQueen. :)


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Alright guys, just a little more set up, before we get to the good stuff. Stick with me for a little while longer, it'll be worth it, I promise ;)

* * *

Ruby makes the drive that weekend to Greensprings. When she arrives in the parking lot, all but beaching her old, beat-up blue van that she'd dubbed Moochie in the edge of the lot by the bushes, I run out to meet her, and we hug for about five minutes, both of us crying.

Ruby had an equally useless degree in theater, and we'd been through so much together in college and beyond it, had been there for each other through everything. And now, again, our lives were changing. But at least we were changing together.

She helps me box up the apartment, making piles of things.

There was a "keep" pile, a "discard" pile, and a "donate" pile.

The "donate" pile was the biggest as we went through each room of the apartment. We hadn't had that much stuff, Anna and I, and Anna's mother had taken a few boxes of her daughter's belongings after the funeral, but there was still, surprisingly, a lot of things.

There were times when I broke down crying, drawing my knees up as I sat on the living room floor, Ruby rubbing little circles on my back and making trips to the local liquor store for really cheap wine.

But somehow, miraculously, in two days we got through it.

And I ended up with a single suitcase of clothes, and a few plastic totes of things. That was it. That was, somehow, my life's worth of possessions.

It made me feel sad and small. And completely alone.

But Ruby wouldn't let me feel that way for long. She drove me to my apartments manager's office, and I told the woman that I'd vacated the apartment.

And then that was it. It was over.

I walked through the apartment one last time, running my fingers over the counter that Anna had pressed me against when she wanted to kiss me deeply, putting her hands into the back pockets of my jeans as she held me to her.

I was leaving the couch behind, the couch that had held us both as we watched movies together, me sitting in her lap as she held me tightly around the waist.

My eyes fill with tears as I walk through every small room, and I say goodbye for the last time. Even if I moved back, I'd never have this apartment again.

But a still, small voice in the back of my head - or maybe my heart - knew the truth of it. I was never coming back to Greensprings again.

I couldn't.

"I'm turning into you," I tell Ruby when I climb up into the passenger side of Moochie, her van. Ruby casts me a sidelong glance as she turns the key in the ignition.

She was looking exceptionally eccentric today, her long, red tipped hair in two braids falling down her back over the paisley peasant blouse. Her green eyes flash as she winks at me, Moochie roaring to life beneath her hands.

"You mean you're becoming reckless?" She grins, casting a glance over her shoulder as she backs out of the parking space.

"I'm becoming crazy," I mutter, fingers sinking into the plush arms of my seat as Ruby roars out of the parking lot, narrowly avoiding a truck that honks for about five minutes behind us irately.

"Crazy's good!" she yells over the noise of the engine. "A crazy person has adventures, sees amazing things...has a good life," she says a little softer, but I still hear it.

I wanted to have a good life. Doesn't everyone? I just thought that particular ship had already sailed for me. That my chance of having a good life had died with Anna.

But maybe not. Maybe in this absolutely crazy move, I had been given another chance.

Another chance in Storybrooke.

I put my chin in my hand and watch the just-turning trees race past our window in the red and golden blurs as Ruby weaves in and out of country roads and little roads and bigger roads on our way through New Hampshire toward Maine.

"What kind of person just takes your word for it when hiring someone?" I ask Ruby what was probably a very obvious question, but one I hadn't yet considered as we stop at a fast food joint, stretching as we tumble out of the van. "The owner of the hotel didn't even want a resume you said..." I mutter, patting my jacket pocket to make certain my wallet is still in it. It is.

"I dunno," Ruby says, shrugging and touching her toes, which causes a group of college boys to run into a garbage can as the walk past, not looking where they're going. I stare at them with a frown, but they aren't exactly looking at me, either.

Even though Ruby is about 10 years their senior, she has that sort of quality about her. She could charm the antlers off of a moose. "She just asked me who she should hire for the job, I told her about you, and she said you were hired if you wanted it," she grins, stretching overhead and straightening.

"That just seems odd - no resumes, no interviews," I mutter, following Ruby and the scent of french fries through the door and into the ordering line. Ruby shoves her hands into the pockets of her coat and shrugs.

"I mean, she's eccentric," Ruby says, peering up at the lit menu above us, glowing with tantalizing pictures of sandwiches and beverages. "Do I want a number five or a number seven?"

"Five," I say, glancing up. "What do you mean, 'eccentric'?"

"I'd like a number five, please!" Ruby tells the fast food attendant cheerfully. "And if you could give me the biggest size possible, I'd greatly appreciate it." She pulls a couple of bills out of her pocket and shrugs at me. "I mean _eccentric_," she mutters, taking the receipt with her order number.

"And for you?" the fast food guy says in a very bored tone of voice.

"Um...a medium coffee and a large order of fries, thanks," I say, handing him my debit card. He swipes it through and gives me my receipt, and I follow Ruby to the side where we wait with a bunch of other hungry people waiting for orders. "You're being dodgy," I tell her with a frown.

"I Mean, she's kind of quite. Keeps to herself. Wears a suit and tie..." Ruby says, trailing off and watching me closely for a reaction. "That's why I told you about the whole 'gorgeous women' thing. I'm pretty sure my boss is gay. And a few other people there are, too, I think.

"How is that even possible? It's a little town in Maine...how many lesbians can there possibly be? Ad if you think she's gay just because she wears a tie, your gaydar is massively malfunctioning," I snort, not caring that the elderly man ahead of us is frowning with all of his might back at me.

"My gaydar is functioning just fine, thanks. And I wasn't talking about lesbians in the town...I mean, there might be. I was actually talking about just the hotel," she says mildly, biting her lip. "Um..."

"Order seventy-nine!" Yells one of the attendants, dropping a tray of very largely sized bags on the counter.

"That's me!" Ruby says with glee, stepping forward and scooping up the bags.

"Order eighty!" It takes me a second to process that this is my order. Mostly because I was trying to compute the fact that there was a hotel apparently full of gay women in Maine.

"I mean, not everyone there's gay, I don't think," Ruby says, bursting my bubble as we head back to the car. "I mean, I'm not. I think the head cook isn't. But my gaydar has gone off every single time I meet anyone new from the Mills clan, and -"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa...back up there. I think you need to tell me the whole story. From the _beginning_."

We head back to the van with bags of more calories than ten people should probably have ingested for lunch, and very large cups of coffee. The scent of the french fries mixed with steam from the coffee makes my stomach roar in protest, begging to be fed.

"So the Mills Hotel is the only hotel or motel or whatever in Storybrooke," Ruby says, starting the engine again. "You're going to love Storybrooke, by the way. It's this crazy little town. Everyone I've net is awesome, and there's this cute little clothing boutique, and...Anyway," she continues, when she catches my glance.

"The hotel is owned by Regina Mills. She's going to be your new boss. And she has a pretty big family. They all live at the hotel."

"Big family?" I dip a french fry into the hole on the top of my cup of coffee and take a bite.

"That's disgusting," Ruby says, wrinkling her nose as she takes a chug of coffee. "And yeah, big family. I guess she had a lot of adopted sisters? Or something? Look, I don't try to be nosy, but there are a lot of ladies who are staying at the hotel, all with the last name of Mills. And they don't _look_ related. It's kind of weird, but they're all nice to me, so I've never really pried, asked questions, you know? Anyway, if you ask me, I kind of think all of those ladies are her harem or something," she says, waggling her eyebrows at me as she takes another sip of coffee.

"They're all really unspeakably gorgeous, all of the women I've met. And they cover the whole spectrum of gay ladies, apparently. I've met butches and femmes and really hard femmes, and...I'm telling you, I genuinely think all of those women are her harem,"

"Get your mind out of the gutter," I snort, rolling my eyes as I dip another french fry into my coffee and try to wrap my head around this.

Gorgeous lesbian women.

All with the same last name.

It was actually a little weird.

"And french fries in coffee isn't disgusting," I tell her proudly as she makes a little sound. "It's actually quite tasty. Tell me a little more about Regina..." I say then, sitting back in my seat and cradling my coffee cup in my hands.

Regina Mills.

"Like I said, she's a little weird. But she's always been really nice to me, She's very quiet, but when she comes into a room..." Ruby actually shivers when she says those words, her shoulders shaking a little as she breathes out.

"I mean, you know it when she walks through a door, is all," she says, raising her eyebrows at me.

"She has this...presence. It's really commanding. I hope you know it took quite a bit of courage from me to tell her about you. I had to seek her out, ask her for a meeting. I told her about you, and she just said you were hired if you wanted the job. She makes very firm, very quick decisions. She just...that kind of lady."

"You mean an eccentric lady," I say, holding my cup a little tighter as the sun comes out from behind the clouds, causing all of the trees to brighten, their leaves moving in the wind, as red as if they were on fire.

"Yeah," Ruby says, though her brows rise a little higher.

We drive a little farther in silence.

Her eating the contents of her greasy paper bags of fast food.

Me munching on french fries soggy with coffee, thinking about how absolutely crazy I am to have gone along with this.

The sun lights up the autumn trees, the road stretching ahead of us, leading toward the unknown.

* * *

A/N: Next stop: Storybrooke! :)


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Just one more chapter until our two favorite ladies meet!

* * *

As we pass the sign reading "Welcome to Storybrooke" it's already dark out.

The spotlight that's trained on the town sign is much too bright, and the faded quality of the paint is more visible than anyone probably would have liked.

We'd been able to smell the salt air for a few miles as it came in through the vans vents, but it's too dark to make out the water that Ruby assures me is located to my right.

I occasionally see a flashing light, far out into the blackness, and I just assume that they're passing boats.

The air feels like a storm is coming, and the sky is as dark as a grave.

We drive down the small main street. Old Victorian buildings that looked a little run down hold a tea house, a coffee shop, a Subway restaurant, a Chinese place, a barber shop and an antique store that has a slightly horrifying mannequin in the front window wearing a clown mask surrounded by orange lights.

It's finally October, and there are pumpkins and sagging cornstalks tied to each lamppost along the way.

The street is almost completely deserted, although my watch tells me that it's only eight o'clock-ish on a Sunday night.

"They close up early around here," Ruby says with a shrug as the van's blunt nose begins to edge upwards. We've gone through the main street, and now we're winding our way up what must be a very impressive hill.

I peer out of the window, up and up, wishing that it were still daylight so that I could see.

"You'll get to see it tomorrow," Ruby promises, her grin infectious as she turns the van along a looping curve of the road, her knuckles white on the worn wheel. "The Mills Hotel is _really_ impressive in the daylight, but I honestly think you'll be pretty impressed by it at night, too..."

We round a bend in the road, and there it is.

The Mills Hotel.

I'm pretty sure my Jaw hits the floor of the van.

I'm reminded, instantly, of the kind of period dramas that they show on PBS.

The Mills Hotel looks like it belongs in England...not here.

Not in Maine, US of A.

It's a sprawling, monstrously huge blocky building, seven stories high, with columns and towers. But the very first thing I notice is the color of the stone it's made out of.

I suppose I've seen red stone buildings before, but they've never stuck out in my mind. Maybe because they weren't _this_ red.

The building is a color of red that you could only call blood. And, to top it all off, almost every room throughout its monstrous sprawl of rooms are lit like it's on fire.

That's the impression that I get, actually - that the entire building is on fire, but made of stone - very red stone - so that's impossible. But still...it seems to flicker, even as I close my eyes.

The Mills Hotel has burned itself into my vision, _even as I close my eyes_.

I suppose that maybe I should be afraid of it, a big red building outside of town, lit up and flickering like a bad omen.

Ruby parks Moochie along the front walkway, and we both get out of the van, staring up and up and up at the sprawling building.

It is lavish, excessive.

Beautiful.

With all of it's columns and towers and - as I peer up, I notice at the very top over the front door - gargoyles.

Ruby glances eagerly at me before opening up the van's side door and lugging out my suitcase.

"Come on, I can't wait to show you -" She keeps talking, but she's trotting ahead of me, just a little to far for me to hear, and I have to almost run to keep up, picking up and lurching along my suitcase so that it bangs against my thigh as we walk up the shallow stone steps leading toward the entrance.

The Mills Hotel's main entrance has four massive marble pillars that have been pockmarked by the salty Maine rain (I didn't even _know_ marble came in red), and scarlet planters on either side of each pillar, big enough to contain a body.

Not that I immediately think that as I look at them, but there's something about this entryway that makes my thoughts turn a little ghastly.

Maybe it's the tiny carves faces on the planters - gargoyle faces. Spooky faces with distended tongues, bulging eyes and curving horns.

I shudder a little as Ruby holds open the main door for me, a big wooden thing that takes her two hands to keep steady and open.

I step through, and then it's over.

I've made my decision fully. For better or worse.

I'm here.

I have entered the Mills Hotel, and my choice is made.

Dark oak paneling along the cathedral walls echo back the sound of my flats on the checkerboard floor, a checkerboard not of the usual white and black squares, but of red and black.

Together, Ruby and I walk toward the front desk, a big sprawling wooden thing carved with loops and filigree that looks wide enough to park a carriage on (my brain is thinking Victorian pictures at this point - the hotel does that to you), much too wide for what I assume is the guest book, the old leather thing cracked open to two empty cream pages.

The antique brass bell on the counter makes a tiny _ding!_ as Ruby presses her palm to it, and the sound carries down the hallway, around the corner...hell, maybe it went forever.

Two massive corridors, big enough to drive a couple of semis down at the same time, stretch away to our left and to our right.

But right to the side of the old oaken desk, rises a stairway.

I guess I was expecting something impressive, something Queen Victoria would have walked down. But this staircase is actually not like the corridors at all, not like the impressive desk or the rising cathedral ceilings around us.

This staircase is a tall, spindly thing, much too steep and wide, as steep as a cliff face. It doesn't look like steps, but rather like a ladder has been propped against one of the walls.

I stare up it in shock, the dark wood contrasting with the red of the carpeting on the steps. It kinda looks like a tongue.

"We don't usually use that staircase," Ruby says, wrinkling her nose as she follows my gaze.

When she catches my expression, she chuckles a little and wags her fingers at me, eyes wide.

"They say a couple of people have fallen to their deaths on it! We call it the Widowmaker."

"Great," I mutter, as I set my suitcase down beside my foot, shivering a little.

There are paintings on the walls here; old paintings that I realize - a little shocked - are originals. I wander over to the closest one.

It's of a naked woman, lounging on a rock, her back to the viewer, her face in profile as she turned, gazing to the left. She has long, straight black hair, a full mouth and flashing brown eyes, and she's smiling, amused, as she gazes regally at a big black cat that reminds me of a lion more than a panther as it crouches along the edge of the painting.

She looks regal, powerful, and I feel the skin on my arms begin to shiver. I like the painting very much, but it reminds me of something. It reminds me of...

"Earth to Emma, come in Emma!" Ruby jokes, touching my arm lightly.

"It says on the sheet here that I'm supposed to cover the front desk tonight, so...I guess I'll show you to your room, and then I've got duty!"

"So no one's covering the front desk?" I ask, a bit bewildered, blinking and staring back at the big oaken desk, that stands utterly empty. "That doesn't make any sense. What if someone comes in?"

"Oh, no one really comes to Storybrooke," Ruby says, wrinkling her nose. "Come on! This way!"

"A hotel that no one visits. So bizarre," I mutter, hefting up my suitcase again and turning to follow her down the broad hallway, the unnerving red and black checkerboard pattern of the floor continuing on under my feet.

I pause as I pass the painting again, my gaze lingering on the woman's commanding presence, her long dark hair flowing over her shoulders and back, the way her smile curves. It's a courageous smile.

She isn't afraid of the beast.

Strangely, I get the feeling that it's almost as if she's summoned it to her.

"Emma!"

"I'm coming..." I say, and then I actually am, trotting down the hallway at a brisk clip, and around the corner, following Ruby.

The skin on my arms pricks as I continue along the curve of the hall, as the paintings, all with little lamps overhead like you'd see in a private gallery, lit and showcasing the works of art in their full glory, continue on and on, all different subjects and artistic styles and time periods.

Here is a painting done in the impressionistic style, similar to Monet, but this is no charming idyll with water lilies and bridges over duck ponds. This is an impressionistic painting of a skull, all dashes of white and muddied browns in thick globs of paint.

I don't like it even a bit.

Here is another painting, done in a cubist style - all angles and bright garish oranges and reds - a cup of orange water.

Again, it doesn't suit my tastes, though I know that all art is subjective.

Ruby is too far ahead down the looping, turning corridors for me to even see her at this point, and there aren't any doors off of the corridor - it's as if the hallway was built specifically to showcase the art.

It's as if the hallway goes on forever.

I pause, then, pause because I can't bear the feeling anymore.

You know the feeling. The prickling sensation on the back of your neck, the hairs on your arms rising. The feeling you get when you're being watched.

I turn, but I'm in a peculiar place in the corridor, a little bend where I can't see the hallway curve ahead of me or behind me.

I glance back. But there's no one there.

"Come _on_, Emma!" echoes the far-off voice of Ruby, somewhere down the corridor.

"Coming!" I call back, trotting down the hall with my chin over my shoulder, still glancing back. Even though I move down the corridor, even though I move past remarkable paintings, the hall turning and twisting under my feet with the odd red and black checkerboard of marble, even though I see not a single other soul than the occasional back of Ruby...I still can't shake the feeling of eyes on me.

Maybe it's just me.

I'm tired - we'd been driving for most of the day, and I was never much for road trips and Storybrooke was farther up the coastline than I'd thought.

I'd just uprooted my entire life, given up the apartment I've had for years, given up the job that was familiar, that had somehow become a part of me.

Of course I'm feeling a little uneasy.

I'm still wondering if this was a good idea.

Yes. It is.

I'm just uneasy about the changes, the _massive_ life changes I've just undergone.

But as I keep walking down the hallway, I glance over my shoulder every now and then, the hairs on the back of my neck pricking up, still unable to completely shake that feeling that there is someone back there, watching me.

But there is never anyone there.

"I know this seems like a long way," Ruby says, her hand on a spiral staircase as I round the final corner of the corridor.

The staircase is dark mahogany, and seems very old. It's ornate, carved with little vines and leaves and stylized filigree.

"But, seriously." Ruby wrinkles her nose. "You don't want to go up the main set of stairs. They don't call it the 'Widowmaker' for nothing."

"They've never heard of elevators, then?" I joke with a grin as we both begin to climb the wide spiral steps, Ruby's fingers trailing along the banister and me clutching and lugging up my now overly heavy suitcase.

"This place is too old for that," she says with a wink as we reach the first landing. "Anyway, this is the second floor," she says, gesturing with her hand down the long hallway. It looks like any hallway in a nice, older hotel - the plush red carpet stretched along a well lit corridor that sports wallpaper covered in little golden flowers and ornate golden light fixtures that droop from overhead like wilting flowers.

"These are the rooms for the guests, when we have them." Ruby points upward. "The old servants' quarters are up on the fifth floor, and that's where the employees live now. Not much has changed in like...two hundred years."

"Great," I mutter, following her up to the second level.

And then the third and fourth.

By the fourth landing, I was wondering if I was going to make it, and - mercifully - Ruby grabs my suitcase and lugs it up the final set of steps for me.

"It gets easier after you go up and down these a few thousand times. That's why my legs are looking so good," she quips as we reach the blessed final landing.

"You didn't say my legs were looking great when you saw me, by the way."

"I didn't notice," I tell her seriously as we begin down the wide hallway. There are large oak doors every twenty feet or so, on either side, their doorframes painted different colors, which looks out of place and interesting in such an old surrounding.

We pass a red doorframe, a blue doorframe, a pink doorframe...

"You're green," Ruby informs me, nodding to the fourth door on the right. It has a bright green doorframe, the color that's usually reserved for bottles of poison and rivers of acid.

I grimace as she takes out an old skeleton key from her pocket and hands it to me.

The slim brassy bit of metal looks like it belongs in a museum.

"Go on," she says, jutting her chin out toward the door. "See if it works."

I feel like Alice in Wonderland as I fit the bizarre old key into the lock.

It turns easily with a bit of a squeak, and the sturdy door opens beneath my hand.

I guess that I'd been expecting more Downton Abbey or Withering Heights beyond the door, with decaying red drapes, scarlet carpet that would swallow my flats and feet up to my ankles, and a canopied bed with far too many pillows that Jane Austen may have thought looked comfy.

But I was very wrong.

Beyond the door is a beautiful little room, the walls painted a bright turquoise blue, the bed plain and modern with a purple duvet cover and two plump blue pillows that are different - but not jarring - from the wall set at angles on top of the coverlet.

There's a nice old wardrobe, and a cushy-looking blue chair that seems so comfortable that I immediately cross to it and sit down. On the little mahogany table beside the chair is a stack of old hardcover books, and an empty mug of tea with an unopened box of organic earl grey beside it.

"How..." I begin, picking up the light box of tea and turning it over and over in my hands, the plastic wrap crinkling beneath my fingers.

Ruby stands in the doorway, my suitcase at her feet and a knowing smirk on her face as she crosses her arms.

"I told Regina some things that you like. You know, that you love turquoise walls and earl grey...little stuff like that. She's been asking about you. That's the thing about Regina," she says, waving to the wall. "She's very...thoughtful."

"Thoughtful," I repeat quietly, staring down at the tea in my hands.

I set the box on the table and sniff a little, looking up at the cool blue warmth of the walls.

I close my eyes and lean back in my chair.

It's strange.

I'm...content.

The odd thing is, I can't remember the last time I could have called myself anything even close to "content."

I open my eyes, glance at Ruby, who is now grinning smugly in the doorway as she toes my heavy suitcase forward and shut the door behind her.

She leans against it, glancing around again. I follow her gaze, taking in the little mini-fridge, the microwave sitting next to it on a broad mahogany serving table.

There's a mahogany bookshelf, too, three shelves filled with old paperbacks, two standing empty.

The curtains on the windows are drawn and tied back with scarlet bows, the curtains themselves a cheerful red color that goes along with the blue marvelously.

I feel right at home, I realize.

I don't question the feeling - I go with it, sighing in contentment as I fold my hands over my stomach, and cross my legs in a slow, leisurely gesture.

"I'll come get you in the morning - show you around, introduce you to the other employees and everyone else," Ruby promises, crossing the room and giving me a great big hug.

She nods towards my bathroom. "There'll be toiletries in there for taking a bath or shower, and I'm sure she's stocked the fridge and freezer if you're hungry after all those fries," she teases. "I told her you're a vegetarian," she adds, before I can protest. "So you'll be set. I'll come get you tomorrow morning at...say eight?"

"Sounds fine," I say, sinking deeper into the chair, glancing up at her with a smile. "Ruby..." I say, after she's crossed back to the door and has he hand on the doorknob.

"Thanks for looking out for me," I tell her. And then, even quieter, I add "I think I'm going to like it here. Thank you for everything."

"I hope you do," Ruby says with a grin, mouth all lopsided. "But wait to say that until after you meet Regina."

She shuts that door softly behind her and I'm alone.

Not many people in the world would care if their walls were painted turquoise or not.

She'd done this to make me feel welcome.

I stand up, walk to the bookshelves, glancing over the titles.

What an incredibly thoughtful woman.

No matter what Ruby says, I think I'm going to like Regina very much.

I just had no idea _how _much.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Enjoy! :)

* * *

I was ready, dressed and waiting at seven fifty the next morning. But as the minutes slid by, one by one, I began to get restless waiting for Ruby to come fetch me. I paced in front of my big oak door. I felt a little like a caged animal. I loved my room, but I was very curious about the Mills Hotel itself. Now that it was daylight, I wanted to see what it _really_ looked like.

Eight came and went, eight _thirty_ came and went, and Ruby was still not here.

I'd tried calling her cell phone, and I'd sent her two texts, all of them unanswered. Finally, I couldn't stand it any longer - my curiosity was getting to be a bit too much. I sent her one last text stating that I was going to venture out and explore the place, and then I did just that. I went to my big door, turned the knob, and I opened it.

The hallway was cooler than my actual room, I noticed, as I shut the door softly behind me. I'd dressed in black skinny jeans, a bright green blouse that matched my eyes, and a black leather jacket over it, but even with the extra layer, I shivered as I leaned against the cool wood behind me.

In the daylight, the bright colors of the doorframes down the corridor stood out even more than they had last night. I laid my hand on my own doorframe - last night's poison green was now a pleasant meadow color in the natural daylight. Ruby had informed me that Regina had put me in the green room because Ruby was in the pink room, right next door. Her pink frame was the shade of pink they used for breast cancer awareness. I thought I heard a noise from within the room, but when I stepped up to the pink-bordered door and knocked on it, waiting, but there was no answer. No one home. Ruby must have started out early and gotten caught up in her duties or something. I was sure she'd find me, or I'd find her eventually.

I set off down the hallway, my stomach rumbling. On the drive up, Ruby had told me that the employees of Mills Hotel could get anything we wanted to eat at pretty much any time from the kitchens, and the cook there - a nice woman who Ruby said everyone called Granny. There was also breakfast, lunch and dinner served at regular times, though as i tried to remember those times, they escape me. Maybe I could fin my way downstairs and find the kitchens, get a bite to eat, and perhaps Ruby would be there.

I go down the corridor in opposite direction from the one we'd come from last night. I don't know why. I wanted to see everything, wanted to take all of the architecture in, but mostly I just wanted to stare at the paintings on the walls, and one further down the corridor and to the right had caught my eye.

From what I'd gathered last night, Regina Mills was a great collector of art, and as I perused the pieces hung on the wall between the rooms' doors, I knew it to be true. There were great painting here, paintings that made my heart flutter, that took my breath away. I couldn't imagine how much money she must have spent on the pieces of art on this stretch of the hallway alone, much less all of the stretches of hallway and rooms this sprawling mansion of a hotel seemed to have. As I continue walking down the hall, studying each painting in turn, the different styles swirling before my eyes in a mixture of paint, artistic passion and the triumph of beauty, my heart begins to stir in a way that it hadn't for a very long time.

Art's always been a passion of mine, although I do admit that it's never paid the bills. Or, at least, that's what everyone told me would happen when I declared my major of art history in college. I suppose it shouldn't touch me now, that sad declaration that my passion would never make me a living, not all these years later. But the stigma had stuck and I suppose it became a bit of a self-fulfilling prophecy. I went to school for something that made me happy. And it's never paid _any_ of my bills, it's true. Bit it didn't matter to me. It made me _happy_. It still does.

That's the thing - art _is _my happiness. Besides Anna. And I stopped going to art galleries, openings, museums, after Anna died. I just didn't see any point in it anymore. What was beautiful in the world, if she wasn't there to share it with me? But I wondered, now, as I stop in front of a particularly beautiful painting if I shouldn't have stopped partaking in what made me happy. Maybe it would have helped see me out to the other side if I had gone to museums, if I'd looked at beautiful art.

I didn't pay attention to steps or turns or which direction I was going as I walked along. I simply followed the art. Though there was a sea of beauty and the paintings began to blur in front of my eyes, several pieces still managed to stand out to me. After passing more pictures than I can remember, I finally reach the stairs.

I hadn't realized that I had been following a sound for the past few moments, not until then. But there they were, two murmuring voices just out of reach enough for me to be unable to make out what it was they were saying, but even though the words were muffled and unrecognizable, I still knew that Ruby was one of the speakers, easily. She has this really bright voice that you could probably hear through six feet of concrete. It's the kind of voice that makes you smile.

The voices were down one simple flight of steps, and as I stare down the steep stairs, I recognize the red and black checkerboard of the first floor. I hadn't counted how many times I'd gone down staircases, but I must have gone down all of them. So _this _was the staircase from last night, the ones next to the front desk. The Widowmaker. It must be. I'd never seen a steeper set of stairs. From above, they looked simply like the rungs of a ladder in a barn - so steep and so tall and almost impossible to even think of taking.

It's not that I don't like heights - I'm pretty okay with them. But these stairs were something else. I wasn't taking these steps - I'd have to circle back somehow and find the other spiral staircase down to the first floor.

As I turned, I glimpsed the first floor out of the corner of my eye. Because of the cathedral ceilings, it seems much farther away then I'd thought it was.

It was then that something strange happened.

The ground seemed to spin under me for a moment, bucking and heaving like I was trying to walk on waves of carpet, not good, solid, floor. Or did it really? Was it just a trick of the eye? Either way, I took a step backward as a shadow falls in front of me, but there was no floor beneath that foot, and then I was _tumbling_ backwards, shock flooding my body, cold enough to burn as I began to fall down the stairs, most certainly to my death.

A hand catches my arm and I hang suspended over the abyss of air, my back to the emptiness, before, in one smooth motion, I'm pulled back.

Saved.

The hand is cold, and the body that I brush against as I'm hauled out of the air, feels as it the person has just stepped through a walk-in freezer.

I look up at the face of the woman who had saved me, and as I breathe out, my breath hangs suspended in the air between us like a ghost.

She's taller than me by a few inches and I have to lean back slightly to gaze into her eyes. They're almost violently black, a brown so dark that you're eyes are automatically drawn to them. Her gaze is sharp and dark as her jaw works, her full lips in downward curve that my eyes cant help but follow. She wears a ponytail, the cascades of her silky brown hair gathered tightly at the back of her head before flowing over her right shoulder. She's dressed in a man's suit, I realize, complete with a crimson tie pulled snugly up against her creamy neck. She looks pale, yet tan at the same time. And her touch is so cold as her strong hand grips my wrist, but it was gentle, too, as if she knew her own strength.

I process all of this in an instant, my eyes following the lines and curves of her like I might trace my gaze over an extremely fine painting. And, like an extremely fine painting, she makes my heart beat faster. This is odd. I was never very attracted to random women, even before I dated Anna.

But this wasn't just my heart beating faster; my blood also seemed to move faster within in. This was something else. A weightlessness, like being suspended in the air all over again, the coolness of her palm against my skin a gravity that I seemed to suddenly spin around.

When she gazed down into my eyes, she held me there as firmly as if she were to have her hands snug against the small of my back, pressing me against her cool, lean body that wore a suit with such dignity and grace that I couldn't imagine her in anything else.

I was spellbound.

She said not a word, but her fingers left my wrist, grazing an inch of skin on my bare forearm for a heartbeat before it falls to her side. I shiver, holding my hand against my heart, as if I'd been bitten. We stood like that for a heartbeat, two, the woman's eyes never leaving mine as her chin lifts and her jaw works again, her full lips parting...

"Are you alright?"

I shiver again. Her voice is so dark, deep and throaty, as cool as her skin, as gentle as the touch of her fingertips along my arm. But as I gaze up at her, as I try to calm my breathing, my heart, we blink, she and I, together.

I knew then.

I'd heard that voice before.

I'd seen this _face_ before.

"Have we...met?" I stammer, my eyes narrowed as I gaze up in wonder. We couldn't have.

She shakes her head and tilts it to the side as she looks down at me. She stares at me as if I'm a particularly difficult puzzle that needs solving.

And she's right. I would have definitely remembered her. The curve of her jaw and those lips, her dazzling eyes. I could never have forgotten her. It would have been impossible.

I take a gulp of air and take a step back again, unthinking, and her hand is there, on my wrist again as she smoothly pulls me forward, closer to her.

"The stairs," she says softly, apologetically. I'd taken a step closer to her this time, and there was hardly any space between us, even as I realize that my hand is on her waist, steadying myself against her.

I take a quick step to the side, my cheeks burning.

"I'm sorry," I manage to choke out "And...Thank you..."

Her head is still tilted to the side, but this time, her lips twitch as if she's trying to repress a smile.

"I've been meaning to remodel these steps. Not everyone realizes how steep they truly are," she says, and her lips turn up into a smile, making my heartbeat a little faster.

I take a great gulp of air as she holds out her cool fingers to me, palm up.

"I am Regina Mills," she says easily, her tongue smoothing over the syllables as the smile vanishes from her face. "You must be Emma Swan," she says gently.

The thrill of her voice, the deepness, darkness of it, saying my name, the way her limps formed around the words...

I finally nod my head up and down like a puppet, and I place my hand in hers. Her had is _so cold_, as she shakes my hand like a delicate thing, letting her palm slide regretfully over mine as she drops my hand with a fluid grace I can't fully understand.

I'm acting like an idiot. I'd seen beautiful women before.

But Regina wasn't just beautiful. She was...compelling.

Her face, her gaze, her eyes.

I felt an impossibility of attraction as I watched her.

I feel as if buildings, trees, people, anything would turn and watch her as she walked past them, unseeing things, still somehow gazing at her in awe. She just has that way about her.

I knew then.

The painting.

The woman in the painting from last night. The one with the big, black cat. The woman who had been lounging, regal, triumphant, and unspeakably bewitching. The naked woman, I realized, as my face begins to redden, warming beneath her cool, silent gaze.

She was the woman from the painting.

But as I realize this, as we silently stand, just watching each other, I realize too, that that would be impossible. It had been awhile since college, but I could still tell when a painting was a few hundred years old.

The woman in the painting could not possibly have been the woman before her. And yet, it couldn't possibly have been anyone else.

"I'm...I'm sorry," I splutter, realizing - again - how much of an idiot I must look like to this incredibly attractive creature. Her lips twitch upward again, and her mouth stretches into a true smile this time, the warmth of it making the air around her seem less frozen.

"You're fine, dear. It's not everyday that someone completely uproots their life and charts a course for places unknown," she says, turning on her heel and inclining her head toward me. As she turns, I catch her scent. Lavender, vanilla...and something slightly spicy, almost like cinnamon. It's an intoxicating, cool scent that was warm at the same time. Unmistakable and deeply remarkable. Just like her.

I stare at her with wide eyes as she gestures gracefully with her arm for us to walk together, like she was a gentleman from the past century. True, she was wearing a sharp man's suit, that the blonde was trying desperately not to stare at or trace the curves of with her eyes - and failing, there was something incredibly old fashioned about her. Almost as is she's from a different era, not the one of smart phones and the Internet and fast food. No. The kind of era that had horse-drawn carriages, corsets and bustles and houses that contained parlors.

We begin to walk down the corridor together, in the opposite direction that I had come from. Me sneaking surreptitious glances at her, her staring straight ahead.

The spell of the moment was broken, but a new spell was beginning to create itself, weaving around the two of us as we walk along the corridor.

As the brunette speaks, I stare half up at her, half down the hall that's stretching out in front of us. But, all of my actual attention is focused solely on the woman walking next to me.

Every bit of it. She was just like that. So...compelling. She was a gravity that pulled me in, hook, line and sinker. I didn't know then how much gravity she would yet to become to me.

"I'm sorry that Miss Lucas could not meet you at the appointed time this morning to show you around and introduce you to everyone as she'd promised. She told me that that had been her plan...but we had a pipe break down in the kitchens," Regina says, every word apologetic as she glances sidelong at the blonde. "I was actually on my way to fetch you in her place, but...as I passed the 'Widowmaker' on my way, there you were."

The Widowmaker. Oh...those terrible stairs that had almost cost me my life. The name finally made sense.

"Thank you so much for hiring me," I manage, as i realize that I hadn't actually thanked her for the job and the room and board and the change of life I hadn't known how much I needed. "I couldn't believe that you hired me sight unseen," I confess as we round a corner. The plush carpet beneath us causing our footsteps to be as hushed as a whisper while we walk side by side companionably.

"But of course!" Regina says, and I glance at her.

She was smiling again, eyes on the floor in front of her, arms carefully folded behind her, head slightly to the side as if she was still trying to solve an interesting problem.

I was beginning to wonder if _I_ was that interesting problem.

"Miss Lucas has only been here a short while, but I trust her. She recommended you wholeheartedly and how could I refuse such a sincere recommendation for employment? And honestly, when she'd told me of your circumstances..." She trails off and I see her glance at me out of the corner of her eye.

My stomach begins to roll in me. Circumstances? What exactly had Ruby told my new boss?

"She said that...you'd had a family tragedy," Regina says, brows up.

She appears to notice my concern. "And that you needed a change of scenery."

Family tragedy. Yes, that perfectly describes what had happened. Anna had been my only family. I sigh and rub at my eyes, staring down at my palm that now had a smudge of mascara on it. I'd forgotten I was wearing makeup. I didn't usually. But I'd wanted to make a good impression...and now I probably looked like a mess. Great.

But Regina didn't make any mention of it at all, only smiled softly and pulled a handkerchief out of her suit jacket's breast pocket. I felt like I'd stepped back in time as I took the cloth from her, and dabbed beneath my eyes. The corner of the cloth came away a little black, and I sighed, staring down at the square of cream in my hands that I'd now effectively stained forever.

"You keep it," The brunette says in a soft voice, as I turn the cloth over and over again in my palms, staring down at the perfectly monogrammed, fancy red "M" in the corner. I traced my finger along its delicate scarlet curve.

"My mother taught me," she says, mouth forming a grimace now, "to always have a handkerchief handy. Just in case."

"You'd think that I would have learned that important lesson by now," I blurt out before I can stop myself. "These past few months have been especially hard for me. Which is why I'm so grateful for the change of scenery in coming here...to the Mills Hotel," I thank her, as we approach a heavily ornamented oak door, and she responds by flashing me a tiny, understanding smile.

* * *

A/N: Let me know what y'all think! :)


	5. Chapter 5

The door we've stopped in front of is massive.

At _least_ twice as tall am I am.

I can hear voices from within. Women's voices, laughter, music.

Regina smiles at me again, and it's just so strange when she does so.

The woman in the painting...had she been smiling? I can't remember if she had or not, but regardless, I feel as if I'd seen Regina smile before. It was such a rich, delicious thing to watch this woman smile. She was so certain about her smiles and I get the feeling - very much so, in fact - that she didn't do it often, as her lips curl up at the corners, her face brightening like a star.

Somehow, I feel that when she smiles, it's a rare and precious thing.

And now here she was, smiling at _me_.

What is wrong with me? There's a distant, strange feeling, as if I'm doing something wrong.

I know where that feeling is coming from.

Anna…

I'd loved her so much, and now, here my stomach was turning warm, my heart beating faster, because this incredible woman was smiling at me.

But there seems to be something else even beyond that, in this strange feeling. Something, well...stranger.

It was unnerving because I felt as if I'd seen her before. As if I'd seen her smile at me, reach out her hand to me.

As if she'd touched me before.

There was something familiar about the soft coolness of her skin.

It couldn't _possibly_ be familiar, yet it was.

As we stand quietly in the corridor, the sound of muffled voices, of velvety laughter, play out in the room beyond.

The air between us is cool, scented with lavender, vanilla and cinnamon.

It was intoxicating. And again, for the second time that day, I feel light headed.

It feels _so strange_.

"I wanted to introduce you to the others here at the Mills Hotel," Regina says, inclining her head back toward the massive door behind her.

The wide doorframe around the impressive oak is carved with twining maple leaves, violets, and - upon closer inspection - little cherubim faces. Though they did not look at all angelic. Their wings curve behind them in such a way that it looks almost as if they have devil horns. This paired with their demonic smirks, made them just a little unnerving and I shiver.

Regina turns back to me. "These are my...relatives," she says mysteriously, as she smiles at me again. "They all live here at the hotel with me, and most of the employees simply treat them as guests, so you'll probably interact with them quite a bit. They are very important to me," she says strangely, her brows pulled up.

My heart flutters like a caged animal behind my ribs as she steps forward, placing her long, graceful fingers on the elaborately scrolled silver doorknob.

But then the door flies open.

"You take forever - we thought you'd be back a half hour ago!" says the woman at the door petulantly, stomping her pink high-heeled toe slightly to annunciate her words.

She has short curly blonde hair, and a doll's downward curving painted red mouth, a perfectly make-upped face that makes her appear model-like.

She is frowning at Regina, but then sees me and grins widely. "The new girl!" she announces, flinging the door open wide.

Regina ushers me into the dimly lit room. Though it was morning, and the windows along the corridor had proclaimed it a remarkably sunny, pretty day outdoors, there were no windows in this room. Making it seem smaller and darker within than it truly is.

It takes me a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darker interior, and it's then that I realize how many women are here, lounging on couches or plush chairs or standing together in a small group.

I count eight in total.

"Ladies," Regina says, sweeping her arm to include the room and all of its shadowed occupants. "Meet Emma Swan, our newest employee here at the hotel. And Emma? Meet the Mills'."

There is something strange that I can't quite work out as my eyes adjusted even further to the dimly lit room, as I'm finally able to fully take in the women.

None of them look similar. But they were...the Mills'? Were they related? How could they be?

The petulant blonde woman who'd opened the door to us grins widely at me and holds out her perfectly pink-nailed hand. "I'm Bell," she coos, pumping my hand up and down energetically. "We're so pleased to have you here! You're going to _love_ it in Storybrooke, I promise -"

"Try not to eat her up in one gulp, Bell," Murmurs one of the women lounging on the corner plush couch. Although her words are soft and low, they carry with authority across the room to us. She has long, straight blonde hair and as I glance in her direction, I can feel myself paling.

I'd never seen a more beautiful cat-like woman filling out the curves of a prettier black dress.

The dress looks a little retro, like it was from the fifties with all its pleats and ruffles, and it cling to every inch of her, as if it had been dripped over her skin to form the fabric. A thick necklace of pearls hangs in drapes around her neck as she curls her too-red lips upward.

She is very pale I realize, as I watch her stand, her tall heels clicking over the checkered floor toward us in measured, calculated steps, her body moving in confidant, lazy, strides.

Her smile doesn't reach her eyes.

She holds out her hand to me, too, and when I take hers and shake it, her fingernails seem to prick my palms.

"I'm Mal," she tells me, leaning forward a little, eyebrows arching towards Regina as she drops my hand like it's a bit of trash.

"No offense sugar," she says, wiping her hand on her hip as I blush.

But, she isn't looking at me as she speaks, she's staring at Regina. "But this little morsel isn't going to last two minutes here." Her lips are up and over her teeth, as if she's sneering...but it's more like a snarl.

I'm so surprised by this hostile gesture that I take a step backwards.

But then Regina's hand is on the small of my back, and I'm so equally surprised by her protectiveness, that I stand still, instead.

Regina takes a step closer to Mal, her fingers curling around my waist as she leans forward.

The air between the two women seems to snap, crackling with energy, between their locked eyes.

The room falls silent.

"Manners, Mal." is all the Regina whispers.

It was such a soft tone of voice that I had to strain to hear it. But the syllables seem to reverberate in the floor beneath my boots.

Mal stares from me to Regina and then back to me again, and she laughs.

She tilts her head back and laughs like she'd just heard the most ridiculous joke.

It's a cruel collection of cackles.

She turns and clicks back over to the couch.

It was almost a flounce.

I don't understand the exchange, really. But it is quite obvious that Mal and Regina didn't exactly see eye to eye.

I'd last here much more than a minute, thanks _ever_ so much, I tell myself, bristling.

I'd last as long as I _wanted_ to here.

And why _wouldn't_ I last?

Everything that Ruby had told me about this place sounded like wonderful things, and if there were negatives to the job, she would have said something to me about them.

I knew that.

But as I watch Mal prowl back to the couch, her hips swaying back and forth as if it's their job to be suggestive, I swallow.

She moves like a predator.

"Don't listen to Mal," says the woman closest to me. Though it is only about nine in the morning, she's holding an empty martini glass in two graceful, black fingers. She has one brow up, her curly short black hair sweeping over eyes like she'd styled it to be reminiscent of Elvis. "She's in a permanent bad mood," the woman says, her warm, rich voice sweeping over me.

She grins at me with her full lips. "I think you'll fit in quite well here. My name is Tiana."

"Hello, Tiana," I say, as monotone as if I was a robot repeating words.

Bell prances up to me then, as if sensing how overwhelmed I'm becoming. Her high hells clicking on the impressive floor as she snatches up my hand and squeezes it.

"Play a round of gin rummy with me?" she says, plaintive words seemingly curling up at the end, not as if she was asking me, but rather demanding that I do.

But I don't mind as I gaze over my shoulder at Regina, who just shrugs and smiles a little, gesturing with her had to the rickety card table set up in the corner with a worn deck of cards spread out on it.

They were spread out on top of a doily that did little to mask how beat up the table was - which seemed deeply incongruous with the grandeur of the rest of the furniture in the room.

But Bell drags me over and I sit down woodenly, trying to take in all of the women in the room.

Take in the room itself, with all of its dark, shadowed corners, and the fact that all of these women are gathered here rather than in a dining hall for breakfast or in the kitchens, or...

"I found our Emma by the Widowmaker. If I hadn't caught her, she would have fallen down the steps," Regina says, her voice low as she strides with purpose toward the far mantel and fireplace.

A fireplace, I might add, that is wide enough to drive a car through.

The carved marble mantle again has the maple leaves, the violets...and those frightening cherubim faces that seemed to grimace at me as I turn to watch Regina move.

She opens up an ornate little wooden box that is sitting on the mantel and - much to my surprise - takes out a pack of cigarettes.

She taps one out with practiced ease, and lights it with a strange little contraption that looks like a curvaceous woman made out of metal.

An antique lighter, I realize.

"Fallen!" snorts Mal, crossing her legs and twitching her toes up and down so that her high heel moved with a rhythm. "We wouldn't want that."

Well that was a thinly veiled threat, a clumsy overture of hatred.

I stare at this woman I've just met, this woman who believes - for whatever reason - that I would only last five minutes at the hotel.

My incredibly articulate thought of "what the hell" is brought up short as I swallow, and just fold my hands in my lap.

I refuse to let this strange woman get to me.

Bell glances up at me, but only for half of a heartbeat, and almost surreptitiously, as if she doesn't want me noticing she'd glanced my way.

She shuffles the cards expertly, her pink nails flashing as she snorts. "You're such a bitch, Mal."

Flipping the cards almost in the air as she shuffles them over and over again. I watch her hands. My heartbeat racing as the cards flash like silver fish between us.

Regina takes a long pull on the cigarette, like a movie star from the forties, savoring the inhalation as deeply as a woman from that time would have- before the knowledge that the smoke could do any harm whatsoever had been discovered.

She blows the smoke out slowly and stalks over to us - completely ignoring what Mal had said.

She moves with purpose. Almost in slow motion, as each foot finds a perfect spot to step.

She moves like a predator too, I realize, and it makes my heart beat just a tab bit faster.

Once Regina is beside us, she leans against the wall, taking another pull on the cigarette as she regards me with those intense brown eyes of hers.

"Do you mind if I smoke?" she asks me softly, her head tilted to the side in that curious way, staring at me intently, as she waits for me to answer.

I realize that I'd been staring at the cigarette.

"No...Not at all," I murmur as Bell chuckles behind her hand, shuffling through the cards one last time before leaving the stack of them perfectly neat on the wooden table in front of her.

She deals the ten cards, not even looking at the slick pieces of paper in her fingers.

But I only notice this out of the corner of my eye, as I'm focused solely on Regina.

Watching as smoke wreaths around her head like a halo, almost obscuring those haunting eyes as she pulls again and again on the cigarette.

But then Regina is watching _me_.

I turn my head and pick up the cards as she flicks the cigarette. The ash on the ends sailing through the air as light as a breath.

My fingers are numb with cold as I touch the cards. I'm hyper-aware of how cool the air is in the space between Regina's body and mine. Hyper-aware of her eyes on me.

Bell's smile is wide; as if we are sharing a joke while her fingers curl around her own cards.

We play the game.

I'm not very good at card games, not that it even matters.

I'm not even paying attention to the moves that I make, and I'm not paying attention to Bell.

She makes occasional jokes but, for the most part, we play in silence.

And Regina watches.

The air around the woman may be cold, but the heat of her gaze seems to burn straight through my skin.

I can practically feel it as she traces my curves, my hands, my face.

I shiver beneath the intense gaze, and occasionally, I lift my eyes to hers.

But she looks away every time, slowly, carefully, as if it was imperative that we not lock eyes or exchange any glances.

She smokes through several cigarettes, always expertly lighting the next one from the stub in her long fingers.

Rich blue smoke continues to rise around her face like she's an angel, and the clouds of heaven have parted so that she can look through them, down at me.

What is happening?

I flip cards and look at numbers and spades and clubs and diamonds...and hearts.

My own heart beating a little faster, and my face feels warm and red.

And as I play the game with Bell, it's the strangest thing...it all feels familiar.

Yes, Bell is familiar. With her lilting, high-pitched laugh and her soft blonde ringlets.

But, this too, is _all_ familiar.

The snipes and occasional jabs from Mal.

The laughter and low conversations of the other women.

The room with all of its tall walls of stained, antique wood.

The red and black checkerboard floor.

The antique furniture that gives off that scent that antiques do, a little musty and a little like memories.

But the most familiar thing of all was Regina's presence beside me.

Watching me.

Making me shiver beneath her gaze…

Then, somehow, impossibly, Bell was gathering the cards from beneath our hands and declaring, "I won again!"

The cards flash in her palms as she shuffles, crossing her legs and leaning back in her chair as she regards me with a bemused quirk or her lips. "We can stop now, Emma. I've beaten you too many times. Thanks for playing with me."

My head is heavy.

My eyes heavy-lidded as if I'd gone days without sleep.

The smoke swirls around my face mingling with the wood smoke from the fireplace.

Though a fire roars in the wide grate, the warmth doesn't reach us here, and my skin is crawling with goose bumps.

I can feel gazes on me, watching me, as if curious.

But just as many of the women haven't given me the time of day or even seemed to notice me in any way.

That was the strange thing.

If I'm an employee of this hotel, what am I doing hanging out with the owners?

And _were_ there even owners, or was it just Regina?

And why the hell do I feel like I've done this before…?

As if these actions, this playing cards with Bell while Regina smokes and watches, her eyes raking over my from.

Why did it feel as as familiar as if I'd slipped on a well-worn glove?

And, as if playing gin rummy before a roaring fire wasn't strange enough, I hear the plucked strings of a violin as a woman tunes it behind us.

I feel as if I've fallen back in time about a century as a the woman, who has burnished brown hair, close cropped to her skull, and who is wearing a suit just like Regina's, draws a bow across the violin's strings, eliciting an eerie, almost human-like note of music.

And then she began to play.

She is very good.

I don't recognize the melody, but I almost do.

It's an old classical piece that Bell begins to tap her toe to as she places the stacked and shuffled cards in front of her on the table, turning to listen to the music player.

Is this what they do all day? I wonder, as I glance around the room again.

There was no television, no laptops, and no smart phones that I could see.

And that's what I think is the strangest of all.

Cards and violin music and talking and laughter.

It really _was_ like a moment from frozen from the past as the cigarette smoke twirls in loops and swirls across the ceiling.

It's as if we'd all stepped backwards into a corridor of time.

Into an intimate hall somewhere in Europe where women dressed like men and laughed and kissed each other, drawing velvet ladies onto their laps to wrap their arms around their soft forms.

Maybe it's wrong to assume that all of the women in this room were lesbians, but they very much seemed that way to me.

Maybe the name "Mills" was code for something, because hadn't Regina introduced everyone here to me as a Mills?

I'd come across a lot of nicknames for "lesbian" in my long and illustrious career as one (hah! Far from illustrious), but I'd never heard "Mills."

But how could they all be related...?

My brain is twisting inward on itself, and I feel disoriented, discombobulated...weird, as the violin music rises into the air, wrapping itself around us as tightly as the smoke.

Mal begins to move towards me through the gray air, a smile twisting on her face as she holds out her sharp-nailed hand to me.

"Would you like to dance?" she asks, and I stiffen, because I feel as though she's making a joke at my expense.

I stare up at her.

There's something dangerous in those eyes.

She looks almost...hungry.

I shake my head. "I'm sorry, I don't dance," is what I tell her as the other women throughout the room quite and turn to the both of us.

Probably waiting to see how Mal was going to slice me to pieces.

But I hold my gaze with the woman, whose sardonic smile turns into a frown as she glances from me to Regina again, one brow rising in a slash of blonde across her too-pale face.

"She doesn't dance," she all but coos as she sashays past Regina, shaking her head, her hands on her hips.

Regina regards her calmly, coolly, as Mal walks past her.

"Funny," hisses Mal, drawing out the word to imply that it was, actually, not funny at all.

"But Regina doesn't dance either. What stuff you both have in common! Two of a kind!"

"I'm...I'm sorry," I manage, stumbling to my feet.

I was light-headed, the floor swirling beneath my feet as quickly as it had when I'd been by the Widowmaker.

"I should go..." I say.

The smoke, the coolness, this strangeness...it was all too much.

I move past Bell, past all of the other women.

But as I pass Mal, her hand snakes out and she grabs my wrist.

Her fingers are so cold, that it seems, for half a heartbeat, that they may burn my skin.

"Don't forget to watch your step," she chuckles, low and throaty, in my ear before releasing my wrist from her grip.

I move past her, not looking back until I reach the door, my fingers curling around the silver scrollwork of the doorknob.

Only then do I turn to look back into the room.

Everyone has seemed to return to their own individual pastimes.

Only Regina watches me, the brilliance of her dark eyes cutting through the smoke and the darkness.

I breathe out, my breath catching in my lungs.

And then the doorknob is turned, and I'm out in the corridor, the room and its occupants closed off behind me.

* * *

A/N: What do you guys think so far? Let me know :)


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Just in case anyone wasn't able to make the connection, Bell = Tinkerbell, Mal = Maleficent (I pictured her from True Blood), and Belle, our favorite librarian, will be making an appearence soon, but I'm going to use her cursed name, Lacey, so that we don't confuse ourselves between her and Tinkerbell!

Enjoy! :)

* * *

I lean against the door for a long moment, taking deep breaths of fresh air.

Regina's scent seems to cling to my hair that is curling around my neck and over my shoulder.

Warm spice and vanilla.

I stay for a long moment with my hand on the doorknob, as if I'm compelled to return, as if I'd do anything to be within Regina's gaze again.

I wrench my hand away from the knob and take two steps away from the door.

Out of the floor-length windows, I glimpse the sun touching the earth, a bright explosion of reds, oranges and gold.

Sunset?!

How is that even possible?

How long had I been in that room?

Behind the heavy oak door, I hear laughter as brittle as breaking glass echo.

And then the low tones of Regina's voice silences the laughter.

I turn and walk back along the hallway, shivering.

Somehow, impossibly, I find the way back to my room and my bathrobe and the boxed food in the freezer that goes into the microwave and then into my stomach.

I don't remember what I ate or how I made it or how I found the utensils to eat it with.

I was in a haze.

I wanted to talk to Ruby, _needed_ to talk to her, but she wasn't in her room.

I fall asleep with my feet on the little antique ottoman, and my body curled up on the bright blue chair.

The handkerchief she'd given me clutched in my hand.

And I dream.

I hadn't been able to stop thinking about Regina, which is how I explain the dream to myself, afterward.

She's the last thought I have before falling asleep, so of course, she would be the thing that I dream of.

Of course.

But this calm explanation doesn't exactly reach me in the moment when I realize that I'm dreaming…

_As I opened my dreaming eyes, she's standing in front of me._

_Regina Mills._

_Her chestnut colored hair shinning beneath the moonlight._

_We were out standing on a broken sidewalk, bits of concrete pressing through the bottoms of my shoes against the skin of my feet as I shifted, leaning toward her._

_Maybe we were in my old town, maybe we were in Storybrooke, though it was hard foe me to say, since I'd not seen Storybrooke hardly at all, just that first time Ruby had drove through it on the way to the hotel._

_Either way, no matter where we were_ exactly_, we now stood on a sidewalk in front of an old, gothic church. The steeple loomed overhead, long and thin and sharp, like a needle. _

_I was wearing my favorite red leather jacket, the one with the soft pockets and the satin lining. _

_She was wearing her suit, with a single white rose tucked through the hole in the lapel, its petals soft and almost glowing from the moonlight in the darkness of the night._

_The wind was soft and cool as it played with her hair, moving it this way and that as she stood in front of me, her hands deep in her suit jacket pockets._

_Her eyes were that same, dark brown, so dark and deep and bright, all at the same time, that when she stared into me, it seemed - as cheesy as it sounds - that she was seeing to the depth of my soul and back._

_Something stirred in my belly as out gazes locked, as we stood about a foot apart, the coolness of her skin washing over mine, even though there were those twelve inches between us, and she was not, in fact, actually touching me. _

_Everything about her was a gravity, I realized, as she held her hand out to me._

_I couldn't_ not _place my fingers within her palm._

_I couldn't _not_ step forward as she pulled me gently._

_Tugging my arm so that I glided forward effortlessly, my curves resting along hers, our bodies against one another like they were made to be this way, complementing and whole._

_She stared down into my eyes, tilting back my chin with one long finger, the coolness of her skin making me shiver. But this shiver, i now knew, was one of delight._

_As she stared down at me, the depth of her eyes growing deeper, darker, truer, I inhaled that scent so unique to her, the coolness of her that was so opposite to the spice of her, inhaling deeply as her lips hovered above mine, and I wanted - more than anything else - to stretch up on my tiptoes and kiss her._

_But I did not kiss her. _

_And she did not kiss me._

_She paused in her downward descent towards me, she paused as her exquisite, graceful neck had angled her face gently down toward mine, the light from the moon dangling overhead like a lantern painting her face with sharp angles and lovely valleys of light._

_She paused and she stopped._

_And she did not kiss me._

_And though I wanted - desperately - more than anything to kiss her, I did not._

_I don't know why I stopped myself. _

_I suppose I knew that this wasn't the right time and place, this dream, this fantasy._

_I wanted the real thing._

I wake up.

I sigh and rub at my face in the darkness, my heart beating too quickly within me to be able to fall back asleep.

Too fast to even attempt such a thing.

The handkerchief presses the scarlet "M" against my palm and I turn it over in my hand with a frown.

I get up and check my watch that I'd placed on the little oaken bedside table. I peer down at the tiny face in the half-light coming in through the widow from the street lamps above the little parking lot outside and sigh.

Four in the morning.

Great.

I'm supposed to get up at seven, and that meant that if I didn't fall back asleep now, I...wouldn't. And tomorrow would be an extremely over-tired hell. The very first day of my actual employment here at the Mills Hotel.

But it couldn't be helped. I knew with utter certainty that I wasn't getting back to sleep anytime soon.

I got up out of bed again, threw on my red jacket over my pajama top and bottoms (the very embarrassing fleece set of pajamas, covered with gigantic cartoonish lips. Ruby had given them to me a few years ago as a joke. But her joke had misfired because I'd actually enjoyed them because they were _crazy_ soft and warm. Who cared about gigantic cartoon lips in the face of extreme softness and warmth?)

I pull on my old floppy brown hat with the earflaps and tug on my worn gloves, and I slip out of the room, the heavy metal key resting in my coat pocket against my thigh like a trusted, familiar weight.

Everything was quiet, softly quiet, the perfect silent time of night that makes me...well. _Happy_. I don't know why.

When I was a kid, I'd often wake up during the three o'clock hour, and I'd read until I fell back asleep, then often have dreams about whatever I'd been reading about, usually vampires, since I had been really into that kind of fiction when I was a kid.

But when I was a teenager and I woke up during that strange hour that I'd grown to know, and to almost love, I began a tradition that exists until this very day.

I'd get up, get dressed, and I'd go for a walk.

I used to walk down the streets of my old town at three in the morning without a care in the world. I know that a lot of people think that walking at such an ungodly hour is pretty unsafe, but nothing had ever happened to me, and I had a little can of pepper spray in my other coat pocket, just in case.

And, true, tonight was very different from those long-ago walks.

For one thing, I didn't know my way around this place that well yet, but I'd found my way back to my rooms from the second floor, and if I avoided the Widowmaker (because pretty much forever I'd be avoiding it), I'd be able to make it to the first floor and out into the cool night.

It wasn't a very _good_ plan, admittedly, but my head was still muddled from the amount of hours I'd spent in that room with those women.

It felt strange, fuzzy, the memory of today. I wondered if it had even happened.

The only evidence I had that I did not, in fact, dream up, was the fact that my hair smelled lightly of cigarette smoke.

Normally, he scent of smoke tickles my nose, it's dirty and dark, and I don't like it. But this smoke was different.

Spicy, almost.

Still cancer causing, obviously, but also almost sweet and edgy.

I _liked_ it, despite everything in me telling me that I absolutely should not.

So it _had_ really happened.

I'd spent all day with these women, and I'd not needed to eat or drink, and the time had seemed to speed up or...I don't know.

I didn't have any other explanation other than that time - in fact - had actually moved faster than normal within that dark, mysterious room. It had seemed that only an hour or two had passed while I sat at the table with Bell, playing cards, Regina's eyes warm and cool against me at the same time.

But then the sunset had burnished the sky with gold, and I'd woken up from something that had felt so much like a dream...and my entire day had seemingly been stolen from me.

Honestly, "stolen" isn't the right word.

"Stolen" implies that something you valued was taken away from you, and you're unhappy with the experience.

My day hadn't been stolen.

I didn't mind any bit of it, because I'd spent the entire day within Regina's gaze.

Yes, I suppose you could say I was beginning to have it very, very bad for that woman.

Which was crazy, I know. I didn't even have evidence that she was a lesbian, though it seemed pretty obvious that she was.

There was just a feeling...a knowing that she very much might be.

Accompanied with that strong feeling that I knew her.

Her gaze, her form, it was a familiar thing to me.

From where or when or how...I didn't know.

So many strange feelings, and I had no place to put them. I had half a mind to wake Ruby up and talk with her until we were supposed to go on shift, sort out all of these muddled feelings and half memories over warm cups of tea and curled up together on the couch, but that would have been cruel to a friend who had gotten me this strange job in the first place.

Ruby slept through the night, arguably _needed _her sleep (you know, like most normal people tend to do) and the few times I'd ever woken her up with a phone call at these sorts of hours, she was mumbly and practically incoherent anyway.

So I found the spiral staircase leading down, and I followed it. Down and down and down until the very first floor and the dimly lit corridor of art that made the red and black floor seem to glow dimly with all of the little lamps illuminating each painting.

I dig my hands into my coat pockets - the wide, open corridor was very chilly - and I walk with my head down, my steps wide and quick, devouring the space between the front door and myself.

The click of my boots against the floor echoes around me as i follow the curving hallway until I'm alongside the front desk and the steep steps of the Widowmaker.

I stare up at it with wide eyes. It seems impossible to me that anyone would call it anything but a ladder. It was impossibly steep, no wonder I'd almost fallen down it.

It's this ramshackle steep that seems like it might wobble and fall to pieces if you'd so much as look at it funny. Could it even support the weight of a single person? It's so incongruous with how magnificent and well kept everything else in this place seems to be.

The wide, wooden front desk is empty, not surprisingly, and I slip past it without a sound, turning the large front door's knob with cold fingers.

And then I was outside, beneath an unspeakable amount of stars, the chill of the out doors so sudden and cold that it seems to snatch my breath from me as I shut the massive front door behind me.

I stand very still on the stone front porch, and I listen, my ears pricking for a sound in the velvet darkness of the too-early hour.

That's when I hear it.

The unmistakable _shush_ of the ocean tide.

Ruby had told me that the hotel was located on a cliff face, and I had no desire to tumble to my death like a heroine in an old classic British novel. But the lights in the small parking lot, a parking lot that was much too small for such a big hotel, illuminating a quaint, hand- painted wooden sigh that had an arrow pointed towards a gravel-lined path. The words "Beach Trail" were painted in a red, looping script, with a curving, beckoning arrow pointing onward.

I took a breath and huffed it out, my exhale curling up like smoke into the air, as I made a split-second decision and crossed the expanse of parking lot beneath fluorescent bulbs.

I entered the path to the beach trail, promising myself that if it grows too steep or is a bit too treacherous, I'd turn back.

The crunch of the gravel beneath my boots is a comforting rhythm, though.

When I walk past the hedge of shrubs lining the parking lot, down the trail itself, the sound of the ocean becomes louder, brighter.

Clearer, somehow.

My eyes are still adjusting to the dark, but now I can see the ocean, spreading out beneath me.

The trail down to the beach is a wide expanse that has probably been used for cars or maybe even carts, once upon a time.

It's about ten feet wide and cuts into the actual rock side of the cliff.

It slopes very gradually and gracefully downward, toward the beach.

The beach itself is very easy to see—I wonder what color the sand is in the daylight, because now in the monochrome of night, it looks like brilliant white.

The scent of the salt in the air lifts my spirits, and I begin to feel less tired as I watch the whitecap waves rush toward the shore as I make my way down the path.

* * *

A/N: Brace yourselves for some action ;P


	7. Chapter 7

The waves break on the seemingly-white sand, and froth up energetically.

When I reach the bottom of the trail, my boots hit the beach.

I stagger a little as I gain my balance on the sand (reminding myself that I wouldn't wear boots with heels when I come this way again), and I set off across the expansive beach, toward the line where the ocean meets the shore.

Now, the sound is almost deafening, the crash of the water hitting the earth.

It's also comforting, soothing, at the exact same time that it was slightly unnerving.

I think that unless you've grown up with it, the sea at night is always a little bit of a frightening thing. The fear comes from our old memories from when we were still cavemen gathered closely around the fire to keep the dark away. The sea is something that we still don't fully understand, and tales of sea monsters are still told around campfires.

I stand very still, my heels sinking backward into the sand, thinking about the darkness of the water, the whiteness of it breaking against the shore, the millions of stars I can see overhead as I tilt my head up and back.

I feel so small, so insignificant beneath that beautiful brilliance of starlight.

I think about Anna, and I think about Regina, and as I stared at the stars, I don't feel guilt for thinking about either of them.

Usually, I feel so much pain when I think about Anna.

And I do feel pain as I think about her, yes. But it isn't the fresh pain that I almost always felt. It's dull and quieter, now, and I can take a breath when I think of her.

And when I think of Regina…there is a flutter in my heart.

Should I even be thinking about Regina?

Has it been long enough since Anna?

Half a year had come and gone since the accident, and it felt like a lifetime, and it felt like only a moment had passed, all at the same time.

There are so many "shoulds" and "should not's" that it makes my stomach turn, but I do my best, as I feel so small beneath those stars, to simply concentrate on what I am feeling.

I don't understand all of it, it's true.

But Regina makes me feel something that I haven't felt in so long.

There is possibility in Regina.

Okay, maybe she wasn't a lesbian. Maybe she wouldn't want me, even if she were one. Hell, maybe she's already taken.

There is so much unknown and uncertain about this woman, but that was all right.

I don't know, and as I stand beneath that glorious spread of stars, next to the seemingly unending ocean, there is just…possibility.

And for the first time in what seems like forever…I feel something pricking inside of me, something growing and unfurling like a blossom opening in my heart.

It's hope.

And it's at that moment that I see the body in the water.

If my eyes hadn't become so adjusted to the monochrome of the night, I never would have seen that dark curve of shadow, out in the tossing white waves. But they had adjusted, and I could see as I looked out to the water, feeling a million things and feeling hope rise up in my chest, but it was all shattered in that instant.

I blink back the salt spray of the water and take a step forward, my boot hitting the incoming curl of the tide.

What? What had I just seen?

It must have been a fish.

Or a shark.

Or a dolphin.

But as I train my eyes on the incoming waves, I see it again.

Or I think I see it.

A human form, waving arms above the water.

And then, so faint that it almost seems unreal, I hear the softest whisper of sound: "Help me."

Another incoming wave, another glimpse of someone flailing pale arms above the water, and I don't hesitate.

I've always been a good swimmer. My mother had insisted that I started taking lessons at my local pool by the age of three. I can swim in my sleep, but I'd never struggled out of a coat and boots on the water's edge in October in Maine.

I throw back my coat and my boots farther up the shore so that they won't get taken by the tide, and then I step into the waves.

The shock of the cold takes all of my breath as I stagger forward, half-jogging, half-tripping as I try to find my way in deeper without getting knocked off my feet by the insistent waves.

This close up, they seem so much bigger, and they'd already seemed pretty big to me, the gigantic frothy things that keep churning milk-white foam up onto the shore.

I try to keep the figure in my sights as my feet are taken out from under me, and I set out with a strong breaststroke toward the person. But it's almost impossible to swim in this water.

The salt stings my eyes as I try to keep them open, as I try to keep watching for this person, keep them in my sights, and the cold snatches my breath away.

The cold is everywhere, every last inch of me, inside and out.

I'm the kind of person who can't even really stand a less-than-piping-hot shower, so as I try to shoulder my way through the water, as I try to just move through it and stay afloat, staying above and over those waves, I keep losing my breath.

I feel the pounding of my heart, and everything shakes, even as I try to slice through the water toward the person.

The first frozen wave hit me full on in the face, and I take a great mouthful of water that somehow ends up a bit in my lungs, too. I surface, spluttering and coughing, trying to keep my breaths steady and long, even as my lungs hitch up, deeply unhappy at the freezing water I'd accidentally inhaled.

I struggle to breathe, struggle to stay on the surface, struggle to stay alive as the frozen water pulls me down and under, pulls me farther out to sea.

I've never been in waters like these before, black and icy and completely treacherous.

All thoughts of the drowning person began to be covered up by the very real and present thought that maybe I was becoming a drowning person.

I splutter upward again, my eyes wide open in the murky dark as I try to find the surface after being pulled under again.

How had I gotten out this far?

I glance backward toward shore, and the icy shock begins to fill me as I realize exactly how far out I am.

The coldness of the water is making my muscles move slower, more sluggish.

I can hardly breathe, and as I move slower, like a wind-up toy that is slowly winding down, I feel fear begin to fill me up, much like the cold and the salt water.

I try to press through the water with my arms, pumping my legs with a sudden surge of adrenaline as I struggle against the waves.

Was this really how I was going to go?

I keep thinking that, looping the thought around and around as my adrenaline becomes more pronounced, and I kick harder against the frozen waves, as I seek to climb them with more strength.

I take in a great lungful of air and suppress the urge to cough it all back out, because of the bits of salt water still in my lungs.

With the air in me, I rise a little higher in the water, the frozen water that is slowly numbing every part of me.

I crest on the surface, and I glance back toward shore again. It was so much farther away.

That's when something bumps my leg.

I'm too far out to even hope for it to be the sandy bottom of the ocean, but I still think that desperately.

Or maybe it's a rock, a rock I can stand on.

But in the back of my mind, I know absolutely that it was neither one of those things. Whatever had hit me had been slightly pliable. Slightly soft. It had hit me much the same that the smack of meat against skin would feel like.

It was a living thing.

Panic set in.

A shark.

It was the only thing I could think of.

I'd bumped into a shark.

A shark in Maine in very, very cold October waters?

But I have no sense, only fear, and fear makes us think very strange things.

So no, it couldn't have been a shark, but I still think it was one anyway.

I kick out violently to get away from the thing, kick out and tried to turn my body, my body that the ocean is tearing farther and farther out to sea with frozen waters.

I kick out, trying to move even an inch back toward shore.

But it's impossible.

And something bumps against my leg again.

I scream.

I get a mouthful of cold salt water for my efforts, and because of that, I lose the last of the air that had been making me a little buoyant, and I dip underwater as I thrash in my panic.

I open my eyes, trying desperately to see whatever it is that had bumped my leg.

…There is a woman underwater.

The woman who had been drowning.

I can see her blonde hair and her pale arms. She's wearing something that bared her arms.

Pure instinct takes over, and I grasp at one of those arms, trying to haul her up toward air, as much as I was trying to get myself there.

I sink down a little as I try to pull her upward, and I feel her cold skin under my hand, slick and too cold for me to even hold, my numb fingers trying to maintain purchase of her.

She is so heavy, impossible heavy.

She might already be dead.

I don't know.

I just know that I need air, or I'm going to die.

But I can't leave her here.

I kick with my legs, use my other arm to try and propel myself upwards, toward the roiling surface of the ocean with its white waves and its violent power. I can't reach it.

I can't haul her up, with my last reserves of strength, and reach the surface. It was one or the other.

We were both going to die here. Or she could just die.

And really, she might already be dead.

She might.

I might be doing all of this for a dead woman.

I might be about to die for a dead woman.

But I can't let her go.

I can't.

Somewhere, within me, I find the last bits of strength.

I scrape them together.

I kick with my legs and haul on her arm, and somehow, impossibly, I reach the surface.

I take a glorious, too-cold breath of air and lean back my head, trying to float as I try to haul her body up, too.

Something tugs her out of my grasp.

A wave.

A current.

My fingers left her skin. She was pulled back under and gone.

I whirl around, trying to peer under, into the water.

A shark? Had a shark taken her?

Or a particularly strong wave?

But I'd been gripping her with all of my might, and she was just suddenly…gone.

Something bumps against my leg again.

And then I'm dragged underwater.

There's a swirl of bubbles, of dark, murky water that is almost impossible to see through. But despite all of that, I can still see what was happening as clear as day.

Maybe it's the fear, sharpening my sight.

Because the woman underwater had her eyes open.

She had dragged me underwater with her hands on my leg, her fingers crawling up my leg to my waist and then my arms, pinning me there as she smiles at me, her eyes flashing.

What is happening?

It's…Mal.

Her grin is too wide, stretching her face out of shape.

Her eyes were open, and I know she isn't dead as she turns her face, her mouth opening as she begins to draw me towards her slowly.

There is a flash of white, in the dark, and I see something, then, that it is impossible to understand.

Her teeth.

They're long.

Impossibly long.

And sharp.

She looks like a shark herself, with dead, doll eyes as she tilts back her head, her mouth wide and open and sharper than anything I could imagine.

She draws her head back, and then as fast as a thought, she snakes herself forward and buries her mouth into my neck.

The pain is unbearable.

It's cold and hot, all at once.

I feel like my flesh is being sawed into.

It's too much.

I feel her fingers, her sharp, pricking fingers, bury into the flesh of my arms, and her mouth bury into my neck, and I don't have any thoughts, really.

I'm too cold, in too much pain and panic, to think anything.

I tilt my head back, see the surface of the dark water far, far above me, and I sink down below the water with her.

I know I'm going to die.

I know I n dying.

It's strange how, in moments like this, everything can seem so much sharper, so much clearer.

There's a shape above us that I hadn't noticed before, not until that moment.

It's a sort-of human shape, I suppose, though I can't make out exact features.

I could just make out something that looks, so much, like a pair of wings, wings that are utterly black to my eye, though that makes no sense.

There aren't any birds in the ocean

The last of my breath escapes me.

My lungs fill with water and I close my eyes.

I wish, I think.

But there is too much to wish for anything specific.

For the first time in a very long time, I want to live again. I want to be alive.

I want to try with Regina, see if she might be interested.

I want to try to live a good life.

I realize, now, that that's what Anna would have wanted.

I'd been so blind. She would have just wanted me to be happy, and I'd been so unhappy for so long.

And I wouldn't be able to fix it now.

_I wish_...

Nothingness rolls over me like the falling night.


	8. Chapter 8

I was weightless.

It's so dark.

And from far, far away, I hear voices.

"What the _hell_ were you thinking?" It's so soft, so sibilant, those words, that I almost can't hear them.

They make everything seem to tremble, though I can't feel anything.

It's just a knowing.

Those words made the ground quake.

"I wanted her. I was hungry." A whining, sibilant sound, those words.

The woman who speaks them sounds…well...frightened.

"Get out of my sight."

Silence.

A soft crashing sound.

Like waves.

And, somewhere, the crying of a gull.

A new voice.

A gentle woman's voice that sounds wise and kind.

"You know what you have to do, Regina."

A sigh that sounds pained.

And then the first voice says, "Not yet, Lacey. I can't. I can't bear to. She hasn't been given a choice. She can't be turned, not like this."

There is a pause.

And then a shifting sound, like someone is touching the fabric on another's shoulder.

"She's dead, Regina. How else can you bring her back? And you do want to bring her back. I can see it in your eyes. I could see it from the first moment she came here. There's something about this one. Something you quite like."

"Lacey, I _can't_."

There is such anguish in that last word, such pain and sorrow and suffering that it fills me.

I want to ease that pain.

That smooth, husky voice needs to be spared that pain.

I know that voice.

"Mal has gone too far. She'll have to be taught a lesson." The gentle voice has turned sharper, now.

"Yes." The voice was a growl.

The gentle voice was thoughtful. "If you won't change the girl, you can try to give her blood back."

"I know."

"You also know that the chance of survival is almost impossible."

"I…know."

"Try it this way first. Give her back blood. And if it fails…turn her."

Silence.

The weightlessness begins to fade as gravity becomes pronounced, almost heavy.

I begin to feel things.

Pricking sensations all over my body, like when a foot that's fallen asleep begins to wake up.

I begin to feel pain, pain filling every part of me like water rushing into a dry room.

Breath fills my aching lungs.

I began to feel…alive.

I take that first great breath of air.

It's a terrible, painful breath, the water in my lungs making me cough it out in raspy, heaving spasms.

I'm being propped up.

There's something beneath my upper body, beneath my head that's soft.

I try to open my eyes, but they are so heavy.

I struggle with that.

I struggle to open them, and I do.

There is a halo of darkness around the woman holding me.

I blink up at her, and I realize it isn't a halo of darkness…it's her hair.

Her beautiful, dark brown hair.

Regina Mills stares down at me in wonder, eyes wide, mouth open.

Her teeth are sharp.

Impossibly sharp.

And a single trickle of blood runs down the side of her face from her mouth.

I take another breath of air.

"Hello," whispers Regina, a single small tear tracing down the side of her face as she cradles my head, as I take another deep, ragged breath.

Somewhere, on the edge of the world, the sun peeks over the edge of the horizon.

It rises.

The ocean roars behind us, but the sound of my heart overpowers everything as it beats quickly - too quickly.

I know so very little, in that moment.

So very little.

And this is it:

I was alive. I knew that.

I knew that, impossibly, I'd been dead

And somehow - equally impossibly - I'd been given a second chance.

I was alive, but I had died.

Regina stares down at me, her brilliant brown eyes flashing.

She licks her lips, and a single drop of blood falls from her chin, hanging - as if suspended - in the air before it falls against the cold, bare skin on my shoulder.

Splashing against the two gaping wounds there.

And I know that the woman holding me close, the woman who had saved my life, Regina Mills...

Somehow, _impossibly_, is a vampire.

* * *

A/N: For those of you wondering, this is going to be a bit of a slow burn leading up to our two favorite ladies getting together.

BUT! Remember that I will ALWAYS have a happy ending, and that SwanQueen is ALWAYS endgame :)

xoxo


	9. Chapter 9

I'd just died. And somehow, impossibly…I'd been brought back to life.

Behind us, the ocean booms against the shore, the brown salt water pounding against the sand and rocks like caramel thunder. The sun had just slipped up and over the edge of the horizon, and it was already swallowed whole, engulfed by the cloud bank that huddled on the edge of the world angrily, like it might storm at any second.

It's freezing—I remember that.

The cold so absolute in my bones and blood that I wonder if I'd ever stop shaking, if I'd ever be warm again.

But these discomforts seem so far from me. Because I'm lying on the wet sand in my wet clothes, shaking and coughing, impossibly alive when I should have absolutely been done.

And I'm in the arms of a vampire.

Regina Mills stares down at me with her soft brown eyes, the color so intense and sharp that it seems to assault me as I lay there, powerless and exhausted and limp in her strong arms.

But there is something else behind that power in her eyes.

The lone trickle of blood down the side of her face from her full lips, the red contrasting too brightly with the paleness of her skin, the shinning of her long, wet hair that lay in strands around her face, makes me shiver, but then I'm drawn back to her eyes again, drawn as if I'm compelled by them.

There's power and there' intensity there, yes.

And longing.

My God, how the longing burns through her so fiercely, I almost stop breathing again when I gaze at her.

But there is something else in those eyes, too.

As I gazed deeply into her dilated black pupils, the black practically engulfing the usual mocha, I see it flicker again, and I concentrate on it, try to place it.

And then I know it. Sadness.

Supreme anguish and sadness.

"Are you all right?" she asks me, licking her lips and breathing out, shifting my weight in her arms and against her legs so that she can lift up the back of her pale left hand and wipe it over her mouth.

If her intent was to get rid of the blood, of the evidence that she was a vampire, it was a wasted effort.

Her teeth, teeth I had never seen pointed, now have razor sharp incisors that seemed to glint in the daylight, and the blood is smeared on her face like paint.

My breathing comes out ragged, great gulps of salty air that fill my aching lungs as I stare up at her.

"Emma, are you all right?" comes a voice from my left, then. I gazed back, my neck aching, to take in a woman who's kneeling beside Regina, who seems familiar to me.

Regina is wearing her usual (albeit soaked through and rumpled) suit with the tie, her long, wet hair drawn back into a ponytail and hanging limply over her shoulder, stray strands stuck to the sides of her face.

This other woman, too, wore a suit, but instead of a tie, there was a smart little black satin bow tie at her neck. Her hair was in a messy bun atop her head. She had a kind face, large green eyes, a gentle mouth.

It's a strange circumstance to meet anyone in, but I liked her on sight.

"I…I think so," I manage, the words coming out like a croak, and then I'm coughing again—somehow, impossibly, more seawater spilling up and out of my lungs and mouth.

Regina pats my back gently and helps me sit farther up so that the angle to spit out the water is better.

I cough and spit, and finally when I could take another ragged breath in again without coughing, I glance sidelong at Regina.

She's close enough to kiss, and even though I'm soaked through, freezing and bedraggled and had just gotten done spitting out a lungful of seawater, it's a thought I still have.

"What…just happened to me?" I manage to ask, then.

Regina glanced sidelong at the woman, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. And then she stands, and I'm standing with her, because I'm in her arms, hanging in the protective circle of them like it's a familiar thing.

She'd lifted me up as if I weighed nothing more than a whisper.

"You have to get in out of the cold, or we'll lose you again," says Regina, softly, gently, her deep, dark voice quiet as she gazes down at me with those intense, sad eyes.

"I need to know," I croak out, shaking my head, taking in ragged breaths as I try to maintain some semblance of breathing.

"What happened to me?"

"It's no use, Regina—we have to tell her, or she could become frantic," comes that kind, gentle voice.

The other woman again. She reaches out and brushes her fingers over my shoulder.

Regina shakes her head, not able to gaze into my eyes as she held me tightly to her.

I'm highly aware of her breasts against my side, aware of the muscles in her arms as she hold me so lightly. I'm aware of the brightness in her eyes, and the curve of her jaw that I can't help tracing with my tired eyes.

Everything about her draws me in, in a way that I can't deny and I certainly can't fight against.

_Not that I, even then, even in the beginning, would ever have fought against my feelings for Regina Mills. _

"Very well," Regina whispers, her voice tight and uneasy as she sinks down to her knees, gently resting me against the rough sand of the beach, half-leaning against her, the hardness of her muscles contrasting with the softness of her breasts, and I knew exactly how my body was against her, knew it when I closed my eyes.

My heart beats too quickly, everything's heightened.

Above us, too far above us to really make out the sound, I heard the cry of a seagull.

I hear the rush of my own blood, can taste the salt of the water as if someone had poured an entire shaker in my mouth. I feel…strange.

"But quickly, Lacey," Regina hisses up at the woman still standing, her hands on her slight hips. "She's in danger of the elements out here."

"Well, who are we to talk about danger, hm?" asks Lacey, as she sinks down beside the both of us with an almost teasing smile, an elbow languidly perched on her one knee, the other pressing against the sand.

"My name is Lacey Mills," she tells me then, softly, kindly.

"And we, Regina and I—the first of whom I am sure you are most aware—are vampires." She says the word heavily, as if she'd had practice saying it, and as I stare at her wide, green eyes, I know she wasn't joking.

I couldn't have acted like this was a farce or some practical joke anyway.

I…remembered.

I remembered Mal, under the water, the way her eyes flashed, the way her mouth had torn into my skin.

I remembered Regina pulling me from the water.

I remembered her talking with someone else—this woman, I realized, this Lacey—as they tried to decide what to do to best save me.

Regina had said she was going to give me blood.

But that was impossible.

There were two gaping wounds in my shoulder, and it's impossible to give blood through a wound and not using a needle…isn't it?

Nothing made sense as I sat on the cold sand, pillowed and encased in the encircling, protective arms of this woman who, a few days earlier I hadn't even known.

This woman who, from the very first meeting, enthralled and bewitched me in a way I'd never known before.

This woman, Regina Mills.

Who was a vampire.

Lacey clears her throat, and again I glance to her, and not to Regina—who isn't looking at my face anyway.

Regina is gazing out to sea as if she had a vast, unanswered question, that only the rolling waves could answer it.

Lacey's head was to the side as she glanced me up and down, appraising me. "Is that enough of an answer for now, Miss Swan? I'm worried you could catch your death. Or…well. Worse."

What's worse than catching my death? Oh. Yes. Dying.

I search Regina's face, trying to get her eyes back on me, but they wouldn't move.

I remembered Mal, dragging me under the water, trying to drain me, I realized, if I was going to believe wholeheartedly that they were, in fact, vampires.

I stood, then, or tried to, stumbling a little as I propelled myself onto feet that felt like the pin-and-needle pricking of limbs recently come back to life.

And they had, I realized.

All of me had recently come back to life.

"You're vampires," I manage, repeating Lacey's sentiment as the two vampires below me remain kneeling and crouching in the sand.

Regina's attention is finally back on me, and I hate to admit it…but it makes me feel seen.

Important.

In her gaze, I'm alive and I'm fully seen, and it annoys me deeply that I want her to look at me. That when she isn't looking at me, when I'm not the object of her attentions, it upsets me.

I've never been like that.

And I didn't want it to start now.

Yes, Regina Mills was utterly captivating.

Yes, Regina Mills had seemingly bewitched me from the first moment I'd met her.

But I'd be damned if I was desperate for someone's attention—even if that someone was a gorgeous vampire who'd just saved me from dying.

"So, Mal was just…going to eat me up for a morning snack?" I splutter, trying to draw my ragged and torn garments (what had once, I supposed, been my pajama top—my coat was long gone, lost to the waves).

"Is that how you all are?" I manage, taking a deep breath, trying to quell hysteria.

Cool, appraising anger begins to move through me, then, replacing the franticness. I much prefer the anger.

But with it came a strange…side effect.

As I stand over the two women, as I try to draw the scraps closer around my shoulders, I began to realize that every one of my senses was much sharper, brighter.

Honestly, it feels like getting drunk…but in reverse. When I get tipsy (or, let's be honest, completely smashed), everything around me seems to be going much too fast, and everything is muddled.

Here and now, everything is completely and crystalline clear. I can hear the sound of particles of sand moving against other particles, the scuttle of tiny crab legs farther down the beach. If I glance out to sea, I can make out the shape of fish miles from shore.

"What's happening to me?" I ask, marveling, staring down at my hands.

I can hear the thrum of a million miles of veins, can hear the individual cells of blood moving in me.

"I gave you some of my blood," says Regina, unfolding and standing in one smooth, graceful motion.

She glances up at me, then, her head to the side, her arms folded carefully, and her feet hip-width apart. _Huh, she's shorter than me without her heels on._

She looks at ease, but I can sense how she could move, so quickly, in a heartbeat.

I feel that I, too, could have caught a falling wine glass perfectly or could sidestep a car if I had the need.

It's a strange, exhilarating sensation, rushing through me. A powerful one.

"I gave you blood back," Regina says, her nostrils flaring a little as she sniffs the air.

"The blood of a vampire is…powerful," she says, letting the word dangle between us. "You will have some heightened sensations for a few days as the blood moves through you."

"You had to give me blood," I said, words flat, "because Mal took most of mine."

"You would have died if Regina had not sensed it," says Lacey, standing too, brushing off the knees of her once-immaculate pants. The sound of the grains of sand falling to the beach sounded like pebbles plinking against one another. "She came immediately to…well. Save you." She gazes into my eyes with her own unblinking ones, the green so deep and dark, they seemed to swallow me for a moment.

"Are you like her?" I ask, then.

But I wasn't asking Lacey.

I turn to Regina, I always seem to be turning to Regina, but I can't help it. There's something about her body, her face…every part of her, inside and out, that seems to incite in me a longing that my heart and body obey, even if my head doesn't.

Okay—to be perfectly truthful, my head wanted to obey, too. But I'm having a hard time letting it.

She gazes down at me, her brown eyes flashing, so bright, so piercing as they seemed to see down and into the deepest, darkest parts of me.

"I was, once, like her," Regina murmur, the words spilling past her full lips so softly, but I can hear them as clearly as if she'd whispered into my ear, her mouth against my skin.

"But I'm not like Mal anymore," she continues, her face growing hard, her eyes distant as she thinks of Mal. "

And I haven't been. Not for a long time. I'm sorry, what she did to you…it was unthinkable. She will be taught a lesson." Her jaw clenches at that, and I can't help it: I shiver, the shake moving from my legs up to my shoulders in one powerful motion.

I breathe out, placing my hand over my heart.

It was beating much too fast.

"Am I going to…" I search my head, thinking back on all of the ridiculous pop culture notions I had about vampires. I was, admittedly, taking this much better than expected, but dying and coming back to life gives you a pretty strange perspective on things.

"Am I going to become like you?" I ask, looking deeply into her eyes, trying to see if I can find some sort of admission, some sort of flinch to my question. But she gazes into my eyes unwavering.

"No," she says, finally, heavily.

Regina turns from me, as Lacey continues to gaze at me, one brow up, the corners of her mouth turning up, too, as she considers me. "Do you want to become like us, Emma?" she asks softly.

Regina stiffens at that, gazing at the other woman with those sharp, piercing eyes, but Lacey is still considering me, gazing me up and down as if she was weighing pros and cons in her head.

"I don't…I don't…this is too much," I manage then, my head beginning to whirl. The sounds of the ocean, of the world around me, the scents and sights of it, were all too heightened and sharpened, and I knew how much I was in over my head then.

"You need to rest," says Lacey softly, soothingly, as Regina steps forward, the nearness of her body making my own curve toward her.

I feel so lightheaded, suddenly, and I seem to be falling, but there was solidity all around me as Regina lifts me up, holding me close to her.

"I'll take you back up to the hotel," whispers Regina into my ear then, as darkness begins to rise in me.

And then, right before I lose consciousness and so softly I might have imagined it, she breathes, "I'll keep you safe."


	10. Chapter 10

When I wake up, it's difficult for me to remember anything other than the fact that I'm probably late for my shift.

My shift at the Mills Hotel.

The…Mills Hotel.

Regina Mills.

Regina Mills is a vampire.

I blink and stare up at my ceiling as all the details began to spill back into me, one by one.

If Regina and Lacey and Mal were all vampires—and I remembered, now, that the reason Lacey had seemed familiar to me was because I'd seen her in the drawing room the previous day, the room with the wreaths of smoke, filled with women who had not, not even remotely, looked related, but who all seemed to bear the last name of "Mills."

I'd wondered, then, jokingly, if "Mills" was a code word I'd never heard for "lesbians." Ruby had, after all, seemed to be under the suspicion that every single one of the Mills' seemed to be attracted to women.

But the reason none of the Mills women looked similar and unrelated, I realized, was that they all were probably unrelated…and all vampires.

I breathe in and out, pushing down my inherent fear that seemed to rise in me, making my breath come short. It was stupid to be afraid of them.

Yes, Mal had wanted to drain me dry, and as I replayed the moments in the ocean, trying to save what I had believed to be a drowning woman, I realized that she'd probably used that as a ruse to lure me out into the water.

Great.

So, it seemed that she'd actually been hunting me.

If that was any indication, then yes—I should absolutely be afraid of them. Utterly, mortally terrified.

But as I close my eyes, weakly leaning back on my too-plump pillow and taking deep, calming breaths, the vision of Regina Mills comes unbidden into my head.

The beautiful skin of her neck that leads down to the starched white collar of her suit, the perfect, simple knot of the tie at the delicious curve of her neck as it spills down onto white skin that leads to other, more beautiful things that I could only imagine.

The curve of her jaw, that handsome curve that was so strong, those full lips and handsome nose and her eyes, my God, her eyes… I wasn't in any danger from Regina.

Maybe.

Possibly.

And if I was in danger from her…it didn't seem like such a terrible danger after all.

Again, my head began to argue with my body and my heart.

My body that was completely and unapologetically attracted to that bewitching creature.

And my heart that seemed utterly convinced that I knew her from somewhere. And that I loved her.

I stopped at that as I considered it. My eyes springing open, and I sit up so quickly that my heart begin pounding even before I thinkt about all of those implications.

I'd just met Regina Mills. We'd had some intense encounters, and I couldn't deny my attraction to her, it was true, but love? It seemed impossible.

But…hadn't vampires seemed impossible, just last night?

No.

No.

Absolutely not.

I did not love Regina Mills.

But you're falling for her, my heart argues softly with my head.

I couldn't deny it. That much was true.

And that fact made things tremendously complicated. Because not only was I falling in love with my new boss, the owner of this big, sprawling hotel where I currently found myself employed…but—perhaps the most pressing thing—I was falling in love with a vampire.

_Till this day, I don't truly understand how easily I believed the idea of vampires, that they existed and were real and owned the hotel in which I worked. Perhaps it was the fact that, all my life, I'd just been boring Emma Swan who still hoped and wished desperately for something wonderful and interesting to happen to her. Perhaps it was because I was so attracted to Regina that I was willing to believe she was anything she wanted to be. _

But as I think about it that evening, stretched out on my bed in my room on the fifth floor of the Mills Hotel, the sunset spilling through my window, burnished light lengthening the shadows on the old, well-sealed floorboards, I feel a strangeness uncurl in my belly, as if some memory had been loosed and would come back to me at the perfect moment, when it was good and ready.

I suppose that the reason that I was accepting this all so easily was that it was, strangely…familiar.

I got up, then.

I was restless, and the wounds in my neck throbbed, a deep seated ache that made my jaw clench, that made me want to outpace it, if I could.

I walk over to the far wall, where a gilt, antique mirror hangs, its gold frame comprised of a bunch of little metal Rose's.

I reach out and touch one, my finger brushing against the cool patina as I peel back the throat of my new pajama top (who had put this pajama top on me? I blushed at the thought) with my other hand, and stare at the wounds.

Before, that morning, I could see that these wounds had been ragged, bloody, torn flesh that showed muscle and blood. Mal had not been gentle.

But now, they were almost completely, and impossibly…healed.

Tiny pinpricks were in my shoulder, a little red, but hardly swollen, and nothing else besides. They still hurt terribly, but I had to admit that it wasn't so much pain as an ache, the type of ache that happens a week or so after a hard injury. I couldn't possibly have healed that quickly, even if I'd been out for days, laying in bed unconscious almost a week, and I had the feeling that all of the strange events had taken place only that morning.

I couldn't have healed in a day.

It wasn't possible. I set my jaw, then.

I saw myself in the mirror, long, blonde hair unkempt and tumbling over my shoulders, my green eyes wide and resolute as I stare at myself, stare deeply into my own eyes at the recognition that registered there.

It was impossible, yes.

And yet, it had also happened.

There was a knock at my door. I warily glance sidelong at that door, brows raised.

I want time to process everything, figure out exactly what is happening, but life goes on, and we don't always get the time we need.

I cross the room, place my hand on the doorknob, take a deep breath, and open it.

Lacey stands there, wearing the suit and bow tie and a conciliatory smile, a bottle of wine dangling from one hand, the other holding a tray with a silver platter and silver cover on it, effortlessly aloft.

"I thought you might be hungry," she says soothingly, her smile deepening. "Mind if I come in?"

My mind throws out the only predecessor I had for this.

"Is this like in Buffy?" I manage, crossing my arms and frowning a little. "Do I have to invite you into my room for you to be able to enter?"

She chuckles at that, a rich, throaty laugh that, despite myself, I find myself answering with a chuckle of my own.

"That's television vampires," she says, raising a brow as she cocks her head to the side a little, her deep green eyes flashing with bemusement. "Also, I do live in this building, too—so no."

I step aside, ushering her forward with my arm and closing the door behind her as she sets the large tray on the table beside my chair, lifting the silver dome off the tray with a flourish.

"Voila! Cheese lasagna—vegetarian, don't worry—broccoli au gratin, and french fries covered in cheese.

Miss Lucas did inform us that you are a fan of cheese." She's grinning as she indicates the chair.

"Please, sit—you must be famished." And it was true—the second she removed the dome from the tray, my stomach gave a pitiful growl in protest.

Suddenly, I was so hungry that the mountains of gooey cheese-coated things on the tray didn't even seem like it would be enough to satisfy me. I sit down, sinking into the blue plush of the chair as I regard Lacey with a raised brow.

"You need to eat to keep up your strength—the blood going through you is going to take a few days to become fully human. Until then, your senses will continue to be heightened, and you'll be…hungrier than usual," she says, leaning against the post of the bed as she appraises me.

"How are you feeling?"

"Achey, but okay," I tell her, lifting a forkful of gooey noodle to my mouth.

The lasagna is the best I've ever had the pleasure of tasting, and my eyes roll back into my head a little as I breathe out with a sigh of happiness.

"Emma, I have to tell you," says Lacey, then, leaning not on the post, but on the edge of the bed as she settles, crossing her legs in a picture of ease.

"Mal would have finished you. Killed you. I don't tell you this to alarm you," she says, shaking her head and raising her hand when she sees my fork pause, "but to…well." She runs that hand through her hair, then, making the bun even messier.

"Normally, we don't feed so…gruesomely as Mal would have done. We feed on willing…well, we call them 'donors,' or we get blood from other sources. We don't need the blood of humans to survive, no matter what the movies or books have told you," she says with a small smile. "So, when we feed, it's quite a dainty affair. We don't leave corpses." Her voice takes on a sharp tone, and I glance up, again my fork hovering in mid-air.

Her eyes, usually so bright and warm, flash dangerously just then. "Mal was very out of line, and I wanted you to know that you have nothing to fear from her, going forward. But there is the slight problem…" Lacey trails off, her head to the side as she considers me.

"You know now what we are." I take a sip of water, unsure of what to say.

Was Lacey implying that others didn't know? That it was a secret? I could imagine that something like this would be a fact they very much didn't want to get out.

But I wasn't that kind of person.

I didn't really gossip, and I didn't go around telling important secrets that weren't mine to reveal to random people.

"I won't say anything," I tell her, setting the fork down beside my mostly empty plate. "Is that what you're worried of?"

"We've lived here for a hundred years in peace," says Lacey softly, one brow up. "Not to put too fine a point on it, my dear, but by Regina saving you, she has jeopardized all of that."

I don't know why, but those words sting me.

"I won't say anything," I repeat, but I try to see it from her point of view, too. What reason would she have to believe me? I just felt, in that moment, that she did have a reason, but I would never have been able to tell you what it was. It was just…a feeling.

"Before I was turned, a very long time ago, I had a gift as a human that I was able to keep as a vampire. I'm what is best understood by the word 'empath,'" says Lacey then, standing in one smooth motion. "I can feel what you're feeling, if you'll let me. May I?"

I don't exactly know what I'm agreeing to, but I nod, giving her my hand, as she seems to be indicating by holding her palm out to me. She holds my hand gently, delicately, her eyes glazing for a moment as she stares at the space over my head.

Lacey's breath catches a little, after a heartbeat, and she drops my palm as if it had stung her.

I stand, all in a rush, because in that heartbeat, her pupils had dilated, and her incisors had seemed to…well. They'd grown.

"I'm sorry," she says, shaking her head for a moment, licking her lips and closing her mouth. When she straightens again, her incisors are perfectly normal, and her eyes are back to the same warm, rich green.

"Excuse me, please—I was startled," she says with a polite smile, but there is a questioning glance behind it. "When I touched you, I felt that you spoke the truth about not wishing to reveal us. I don't believe you'll tell anyone, and when we have the meeting to decide what to do with you, I shall tell them that fact."

"Wait…what?" I ask, stepping forward, touching her sleeve as she walks past, on her way to the door. My heart is pounding so quickly it seems to be a roar in my ears.

"First off…you're having a meeting about me? What you're going to do with me? And then…" I take a gulp of air, searching her eyes. "And what else did you see?"

She shakes her head, not meeting my glance. She looks tired.

"Emma, please…" I tighten my hold on her sleeve, and she pauses with a sigh.

"I've read a lot of people in my very long life," she says then, quietly. "And I remember every one. And when I first touched you, it seemed that I'd…well, that'd I'd read you before."

"That's not possible," I say, swallowing, my heart building to a crashing roar. "I've never met you before."

She searches my eyes then for a long moment.

"You're right," she laughs a little, shaking her head. "We haven't met, have we? It's been a long day," she says, and the words sound exhausted. "I must just be tired."

I feel uneasy about that, but I don't know what else to say. "And the…the meeting?"

"That's tonight. Now, really," she says, searching my face again.

"We're not going to do anything to you, Emma, so please don't be afraid—you have no reason to fear us," she whispers, then, voice soft. "But we all must decide if you should stay at the Hotel or not." Her words make me speechless for only a second. "

Why don't I get a choice in that?" I ask, then, anger pulsing through me again. "I feel that I should get a say in that decision. I did nothing. I didn't want to be attacked. Why would I have to go?"

She searches my face, eyes wide.

"The question is, Emma, after everything you've found out this day…why don't you want to go?" I take a step back.

She was right, of course.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but I'd just realized that I was currently living in a big house full of vampires.

And one of those vampires, that morning, had definitely tried to kill me.

And she'd still be living in this house with me, too—I doubt they'd gotten rid of her. They were a "family," after all.

But, for all of that, I knew with my whole heart that I couldn't leave the Mills Hotel.

"Can I come to this meeting?" I ask her, my mouth suddenly dry.

She hesitates for a long moment, then nod slightly.

"I'm going to get changed," I say, resolve making my words not shake, courage building in my heart. "Can you wait outside for me? I'll only be half a moment."

Lacey bites her lip with a long sigh, but nods her head in agreement.

* * *

A/N: I'd love to hear what you guys are thinking :)

xoxo


	11. Chapter 11

What the hell do you wear to a vampire meeting?

I go for red.

"You look…nice," Lacey says with a chuckle, and a shake of her head when I exit my bedroom door.

She'd waited for me in the hallway, lounging against the wall as if she didn't have a care in the world. Lacey was very easy about everything, the way she pushed off the wall, the way she inclined her head to me appreciatively, glancing me up and down in my red dress - it was hardly revealing, but it was a nice dress, and it showed off my curves, and red seemed like an appropriate—albeit cliché—color to be around vampires in - and offering her arm to me in one smooth motion.

I'd been wondering about something, and now seems like the best time to say it of any.

Here's another thing about almost dying: it makes you pretty bold.

"Lacey, are all of the vampires here lesbian?" I ask, my mouth going dry as I say the words, and they were pretty pointed, but, if I was going to be kicked out of the house, it'd be nice to know at least what I'd been missing.

Lacey's mouth quirks sideways at that, and she suppresses a chuckle as I slip my arm through her proffered one, resting my fingers on the top of her forearm gently.

"Please—call me Lace," she says, voice light. "And though that word, 'lesbian,' is relatively new, in the grand scheme of history…yes, I suppose that's what you'd call us," she says, inclining her head toward me so that the word "yes" drifted with warm, sweet breath over my skin. I shudder at that, my pulse racing.

Lacey looks ahead, then, down the hallway as we walk together.

"Regina started the…family," says Lacey softly, biting her lip. "A very long time ago. She wanted to find people who were like her. It's lonely, this existence, and she didn't want to be alone. So we found others who matched our ideals, who, like us, preferred the company of the…sweeter sex." Her warm, rich voice elicited another throaty chuckle. "And, believe it or not, I know your next question, my dear. No, we don't usually prefer the romantic company of other vampires, so no, we don't perform mass orgies in the halls. That's not how this family was built or why we are together, for frequent, easy and constant sexual congress."

"I wasn't going to ask that," I say with a flush, but I'd been about to ask something similar. Vampires and sex seem to be inextricably linked. "I'm just so curious about all of you," I tell her, then, which was very true.

"Are you undead? Are you dead? Are you cursed? Do you have souls? I'm sorry," I realize, all in a rush, as she casts a sidelong, bemused glance at me, "if any of this is offensive. I just don't know what's real, based on things like television and books and stuff like Dracula."

"Ah, _Dracula_," says Lacey with a chuckle. "Did you know that its author, Bram Stoker, actually stole most of his material? Ah, rather he was _inspired_ by another work of fiction. It came much earlier than _Dracula_, but no one much knows of it. It's called _Carmilla_. Have you ever heard of it?"

I shake my head, but she doesn't allow me to feel ignorant.

"Don't worry, _ma chere_, not many people have." She inclines her head toward me, the slant of her mouth charming. "Though it is, I must admit, a very sweet little book. It is about a vampire woman," she says, with twinkling eyes, "who loves another woman with all of her heart."

I stare at her in open shock - if it came before _Dracula_, this made the book pretty darn old—and it contained lesbians? Would wonders never cease…- and she nods with a laugh. "Though, I must admit, it doesn't get the science of vampirism right either, it's a very lovely tale."

She cocks her head, considering my questions. "We have never died, no—we're still very much alive, but we're not truly _immortal_, as you consider that definition. Vampires simply live for a very long time. We are not cursed, and if you believe that human beings have souls, then yes—we have souls, too. Vampirism is a sort of…super virus," she explains, anticipating my next string of questions. "It's transmitted with blood, but quite a bit of blood, and you must be almost entirely drained in order for it to work. A vampire must give most of his or her blood to you once you've been almost completely drained. Being a vampire makes you stronger, faster, more powerful than a human being, with a much-extended lifespan, and you crave blood. And that's really it. We don't sleep in coffins. But the sunlight does affect us as a side effect of the virus—we can be in it, but not for very long, or we become weak." She laughs.

"Garlic sadly doesn't work on us, and yes—you can see us in mirrors. A lot of people built a lot of superstitions around us, because, of course, people rising from their graves is a somewhat off-putting thing. Humans fear death, and we don't have mastery over it, but I suppose it looks like we do. Thus we were feared, and stories tend to grow around that thing you are afraid of."

I ponder all of this for a long moment, turning things over in my heart. "Are all vampires like you? Like the Mills'?" I'm not certain how to phrase it, but it seems to me from how Regina had been so angry about Mal attacking me that they weren't any sort of blood-thirsty, human-killing vampires, but I didn't know if this was true of _all_ vampires.

Lacey shakes her head, her mouth tightening. "No. We're peaceful. We want to be left alone, live out our lives in peace, spend time together in friendship and…love." She looks at me quickly before continuing, "but others do not want the same things. There are many vampires who seek to destroy and kill. So no. Like all humans, all vampires are different."

I was awash with a million more questions, but we'd found our way to the ornate door carved round with cherubs and vines and violets and I knew it led to the drawing room I'd been taken to yesterday. I straightened my shoulders as Lacey took a step forward, her hand poised to knock on the door.

But Bell opened it, Lacey's hand falling on air. Her bright blonde curls danced around her sweet, cherubic face as she takes in the sight of both of us, her pretty pink dress swirling about her knees, her pink high-heels the exact same color as the fluffy skirt of the dress. Her cherry-red mouth was pouting, and she looks right past Lacey at me, her eyes growing wider as she takes me in.

"Lace, you're late!" she chides, and Lacey's smile grows wider and more indulgent as she steps forward, placing a chaste kiss on the side of Bell's mouth. But Bell didn't even really acknowledge her. She was still staring at me.

"Are you…are you all right?" she asks, pulling me into the room with a gentle hand before shutting the door behind me with a soft click.

"She's fine, Bell," says a gravelly voice in the smoke-shrouded room. A woman is sitting at the same card table that Bell and I had played gin rummy at just yesterday—but it seemed like a lifetime ago now.

She was shuffling the cards, and, as I watched, began to deal herself a game of solitaire. Her full lips seemed like they were stretched into a permanent frown, and her bleached blonde hair was carefully slicked into a pompadour at the front of her head. She wore a loose-fitting blazer, and the top six buttons on her creamy shirt beneath it were unbuttoned, so that I could see the gray sports bra under it. This woman is hard butch all the way, and just seems hard in general as she glances up at me, her dark eyes flashing.

"She's still kicking, isn't she? She's fine."

"Jane, Mal could have killed her," says Bell with wide eyes, making small, reassuring circles with the palm of her hand on the small of my back.

"And she didn't, did she?" asks Jane, kicking back and balancing the chair on its back two legs, regarding me with a tilt of her head and quick eyes. "So give it a rest. God, you'd think the rest of you had never had a drink before."

"Not like that, Jane," says Lacey lightly, but there is a bit of an edge to her voice.

I feel eyes on me, then.

And there are other women in the room, it's true, but I know the weight of these eyes, a familiar weight that makes butterflies beat against my heart.

I glance to the back of the room, to the wide fireplace that smolders.

She stands there, leaning against the mantle, her hands curled loosely in her pockets, her long brown ponytail loosely curved over one shoulder, and a cigarette dangling out of perfect, full lips.

Regina.

Her bright eyes have me in their sights, and the way she gazed at me…my heart beats too fast, my breath coming in short gasps.

There is a magnetic quality to that gaze, and I'm pulled by it, tugged by it, drawn by my heart all the way across the room, until I hadn't even realized that I'd come the full way, and I was standing before her, close enough to touch.

Her gaze rakes me up and down, taking in the dress, my body, and my skin pricks at that, goosebumps rising to be so wholly appraised in a single glance. Her dark eyes flash, darkening, and she takes a single graceful step toward me.

She sets her hand purposefully on the mantle behind me, then, and she towers over me in her stiletto heels, this beautiful, intense creature, as she stares down at me with unblinking mocha eyes that seem electric in the dimly lit room.

She stands close enough to me that when I breathe out, my breath comes between us like smoke. She's so cold that if I touched her, I'd be burned by it.

But I want to touch her just the same.

"Are you all right?" she asks me, then, and her voice is a low growl as she offers the question.

Yes. I was all right.

But as I stare up into her eyes, I know that I wasn't really.

I was completely bewitched by her.

And that isn't really all right, is it.

Someone clears her throat behind us, and Regina straightens a little, her eyes flashing as she gazes past my shoulder to the woman standing behind us.

Lacey.

"Emma, I feel that I should introduce all of us, if I might," she says, then.

There is a violin dangling from her hand, and I remember her as the woman who had played for us yesterday. How could I forget?

But everything else fades away as I gaze around at the assembled women—noting, with a fair amount of relief that Mal was not among them—realizing in one odd, surreal moment, that I was standing in a room full of vampires.

Who were all staring at me.

"Full introductions would be wonderful," I say with a quavering breath. She didn't hesitate.

"I am Lacey—call me Lace, though," says Lace with a wink.

"You've met Regina and Bell…and, most recently Jane." Still at the table and still leaning her chair back on two legs, Jane throws me a salute.

"But this lovely here, is Mu-Mu." Lace indicated an intense, serious-looking young Asian woman who leans back in her chair, her arms crossed at the waist. She wears a buttoned dress shirt, with a loose tie, the top few buttons open at the neck, and her tie dangling. Her hair is pinned up in a no-nonsense but pretty updo, a few stray brown curls escaping it. Mu-Mu seems to be able to stare right through me, and I feel completely exposed to her.

I shiver a little.

"This here, if you remember, is Tiana." Lace indicates the stunning black woman who raises her ever-present martini glass to me, giving me a wink, her Elvis-style hair tilting a little to the side, her purple sheath dress shimmery today. "This is Lena." This woman is taller than even Regina in her six inch heels, her red hair flows down her back like a waterfall of satin, silver band around her bare upper right arm twinkling in the firelight as she gives me a fierce, wild grin.

"And _this,_" says Lace, clapping her hand on the last woman's shoulder, "is Elisabeth—but call her Elsa."

Elsa was lounging backward, her elbow on the back of her old wooden folding chair, her shoulders curved away from me under her immaculate white dress, nonchalant and easy.

She has long, white-blonde hair that's currently pulled away from her face in a tight braid, a sharp white fedora, throwing her eyes in shade.

She appears to be in her twenties, though I half-wonder if she was actually much, much older. She gazes up at me from under the brim of the hat, just then, and her grin is lazy, wide and it takes my breath away.

She doesn't glance at me for long, but she gives me an appraising gaze, too, raking over my body with her icy blue eyes that seem to be able to see right through the fabric of my dress.

I actually blush when Elsa looks at me, but then she goes back to her conversation with Lena, and I'm just left with my blush.

A few icy fingers curling around my elbow make me turn a little, and Regina is there, glancing down into my face, gazing deeply into my eyes in the dim light as if she's searching for something. "Have you considered what happened to you this morning?" she asks me then, quietly.

Lacey steps forward, shaking her head. "I read her. She won't tell anyone about the vampirism, at least—that's not her intention," she says, warm green eyes on mine.

Regina glances up at her, and then back down to me, taking another deep pull of her cigarette before flicking the ash off with long, graceful fingers.

Again, I realize that cigarettes are terrible for you, no one should use them, I know, I know, but when Regina takes a pull on it, it's just so damn sexy.

And now that I knew she was a vampire, I realize that cigarettes probably don't affect her like they do humans.

So I no longer felt quite so terrible for thinking she was incredibly attractive when she smokes.

"It's not just about that, though, is it, Lace?" asks Jane, her chair thumping down in an instant. She rolls onto her feet, stretching overhead. Her permanent frown seems to deepen. "If she spills the beans anytime, anywhere, whether she intended to or no, we're in jeopardy."

"But I won't—" I begin, but the door to the room opens, just then, the door we'd recently entered.

And there, framed in the entrance to the room, the setting sun behind her outlining every one of her dangerous curves, stands Mal.

She's still stunning, still lethally beautiful with her round, curving hips sheathed in a pencil skirt today, her breasts hardly concealed by the vintage cream-colored top that follows her lines perfectly. Her long blonde hair is swept into an up-do that seems to sparkle with crystals, and her makeup is retro and flawless—honestly, she looks like a movie star from the fifties.

But when she gazes at me, just then, her eyes flashing like a lioness who's picked out the weak zebra from the watering hole to hunt, she doesn't really look like a movie star.

She looks dangerous.

"Mal…" Bell's voice is gentle, but there is a surprising hard edge to it. "You know you're not to come here tonight—"

"Last I checked, Bell," Mal snarls as she prowls into the room, the door thudding shut behind her, "it's my house too."

I don't even register the fact that Regina is moving—she's at my side, and then, in an instant, she's in front of me, between me and Mal, her hand behind her back, and her fingers curving and cold around my wrist, but the pressure there is a reassuring weight.

"Leave," whispers Regina.

It's only a single word, but it seems, for half a heartbeat, that the red and black checkered floor beneath us seems to shudder a little with the gravity of the syllable.

Mal pauses in her approach of us, pauses with one pointed toe before her, on unreasonably tall stilettos, and the other beneath her. She pauses as still as a mannequin, and then a very slow, lazy grin begins to spread across her face, twisting her full red lips.

"All right," she says, tracing her finger over the curve of her shoulder and down her neck, toward her collarbone as she looks past Regina and directly into my eyes.

The ruby-red nails on her hand seem to prick her skin, because she now had two little wounds on her neck…exactly where mine are.

I shudder as her smile turns malicious, and she turns on her heel, practically flouncing back toward the door.

It slammed shut behind her.

"Lacey," says Regina softly, quietly, "please follow her and make certain that she obeys the letter of her punishment."

Lace turned to me, brows up. "She has to leave the house for a week," Lace tells me with a careful shrug. I don't really believe in capital punishment, and I certainly don't believe in punishment in general…but I'd also never been almost drained dry by a vampire who sought me out for a nonconsensual drink and purposefully hunted me down and apparently had not a shred of remorse for either of these things. I honestly didn't even know what it was about me that she found so utterly repulsive.

From the very first moment that I'd met Mal Mills, she'd seemed to have it out for me, and I didn't know why. But it was incredibly unnerving.

"But…doesn't it seem like she's going to try to drink me again?" I manage to keep my voice from shaking, but just barely.

Lace is already out the door, closing softly behind her as she follows Mal, and Regina turns her full attentions to me.

"This is her warning, this week away from the safety, companionship and home of the Hotel. To do so again would be complete and irrevocable expulsion from us. And I promise you: she doesn't want that," says Regina's voice, still dark and growling, but softer as she gazes down at me.

I realize, then, that Regina's fingers are still at my elbow, still curled gently over my skin, still cold as ice. She seems to notice it at the exact same moment, too, and she lets go of me, taking a step back, and reaching up for her cigarette, taking a pull and flicking the ash away.

"We need to discuss if she's leaving or not," says Jane, then, nodding toward me and crossing her arms. She's sunk down into her chair again, but the way she looks at me…I realized she doesn't trust me. And probably wants me gone.

"Let's not be hasty," says Bell, stepping forward briskly so that her pink skirt flars out around her. "Yes, Emma knows about us. But she isn't like Betty—"

"Let's be honest, we thought Betty wouldn't be like Betty," says Jane, pulling a hand over her face for a heartbeat before sighing and leaning back again.

"Who was Betty?" I asked, worrying at my lip with my teeth.

"Betty was the only other employee of the Sullivan Hotel who found out about us. She worked here in the forties," says Bell, pulling at one of her curls alongside her face so that it elongates like a spring. "Um…she fell in love with—"

"She doesn't need to know all the details," says Jane with a growl.

I realize with a start that her full lips are up and over her teeth, and her eyes have darkened...and her fangs have grown.

I take a step back, but Jane isn't looking at me—she's looking at Bell.

"Well, anyway," says Bell hastily, with a quick, conciliatory smile as she spreads her pink-nailed hands. "She fell in love with someone here and when things didn't really go as planned, she threatened to tell everyone."

"What happened to Betty?" I ask, breathing out.

I'm close enough to Regina that this breath hangs suspended in the air, like I'm standing outside on a winter's night, even though I'm actually standing in front of the fire.

I feel the cold length of her behind me, can see her out of the corner of my eye as she tosses the stub of her cigarette into the blaze and she leans against the mantle again, her eyes not on Bell.

But on me.

"She was out on a boat. She drowned," says Bell, her pretty face contorting in a grimace.

I stare at her.

"It wasn't…it wasn't foul play," says Bell quickly.

A little too quickly.

"But the facts of the matter are that she would have gone to the authorities and the town with the knowledge that we're vampires. And we'd have to leave. Everything we've built would be destroyed."

I'd been thinking it for so long, I finally said it: "What I don't understand is how you can stay in one place for so long anyway," I say with a shake of my head. "Storybrooke looks like it's a small town—don't people get suspicious?"

"We trade out the task of figurehead of ownership of the hotel every generation or so, and we're not seen in the town that much," says Tiana, taking a sip of her martini and leaning back in her plush chair, her hand resting lightly on her bare thigh. The slit on that dress goes spectacularly high.

"To be perfectly honest," she says, leaning forward, her red mouth curling upwards, her dark eyes dancing, "I don't think our dear Emma here is going to say anything. I think she should stay with us. She did just arrive."

"All the more reason not to trust her," Jane rumbles.

"I don't want to go," I say then, my hands curling into fists. I swallow, try to find something tactful to say…fail. "I didn't volunteer to be tricked, almost drowned, bitten, drained. I didn't want this knowledge. But now that I have it, I don't see what's so different about me. I need a job. I'm a good worker, and I'll do my best here. Just because you're vampires…it doesn't change anything."

That sounded weak, even to my ears, and Jane chuckles—though it doesn't sound at all humorous—as she pushes her chair back and balanced it on the back two legs again. "Right," she says, with a snort. "You're in a house full of vampires, and you're not the least bit alarmed by that fact? Every human fears us, Emma. We're predators, pure and simple. We're the stuff of nightmares."

Regina straightens at that, and I can't help it—I don't want to see her out of the corner of my eye, I want to be looking at her headlong. I turn just as Lacey slips back into the room, leaning against the door as she shuts it, her arms crossed.

"I want her to stay," Regina says softly.

The room stills.

Regina steps forward, but she doesn't look at me.

She moves past me without even acknowledging me, though her long ponytail drifts over my bare arm as she stepped past—it feels like silk, and I shiver as she moves past me, close enough to touch, to stop, but I don't.

She slips past Lace, and then she's out of the room, and into the corridor. The door shutting with a soft click.

"Welllllll, I suppose that's that," says Bell uncertainly as she gazes at the shut door.

"Great," mutters Jane with an eye roll, turning her attentions back to her game of solitaire.

Lacey appraises me with a single brow up as I stand, alone and unsure by the fire, shifting from foot to foot like I'm the new kid in second grade.

I feel awkward and out of place, and my skin pricks to attention, all my thoughts revolving around the fact that Regina had left, and I very much want to go after her.

That is, until Elsa stands.

She'd been silent during the proceedings, but she'd been watching me from under the brim of the white fedora.

I was awash with too many feelings, too many uncertainties. Why had Regina said that? What did she mean? Did she feel this strange thing growing between us?

I'm desperately attracted to her, but I fight against that. I don't want to be desperate about anything, but every single time I'm around Regina Mills, I seem to lose all of my reasoning abilities in favor of my heart pounding much too quickly, and my body curving toward her like I'm compelled by her form.

Elsa strides over to me, her hands in pockets sewn into her dress, her head cocked a little. She's lithe and lean and seems to be in complete control of every inch of her body.

She leans her shoulder against the mantle, giving me another once over, her blue eyes flashing as her lips turned up at the corners.

"Been a strange day, huh?" Her voice is warm and low, but there's a little laughter to it, too. I glance sidelong at her, turning to the fire, instead, holding out my hands to the blaze. I feel cold.

"Yeah," I manage, biting my lip as I breathe out.

"It's going to start getting stranger. Just a bit of friendly advice," says Elsa, her brows up as she glances down at the fire, too. "The guests are going to start arriving tonight for the Conference."

"Conference?" I ask her, turning to look at her.

She's so beautiful.

Beautiful is actually not the right word for Elsa.

She exudes sexuality, confidence.

She's gorgeous, absolutely gorgeous, but there's this iciness to the glint in her eyes, the turn of her smile. It's incredibly difficult not to be attracted to her on sight, and if I was being completely honest with myself…I was.

It wasn't like with Regina, though.

Elsa was beautiful, yes…but there is something about Regina that draws me to her.

It's different.

"The vampires, the world over, meet once a year. It's called 'the Conference.' They chose to meet here this year. They meet here every couple of years or so, because it's an out of the way place, and safe from most curious bystanders. So the hotel will be practically filled with vampires," says Elsa, her mouth twitching into a smile again as my heart begins to beat faster—not from attraction, but from fear.

"The thing about the Conference, of course," she whispers, leaning closer to me as she grins wickedly, "is that there are going to be many vampires here who aren't really like us."

"Like you?" I breathe.

"Let's just say they don't have the same values as us. And they don't look at humans the same way." Elsa smirks and reaches out between us.

Her fingers are at the curve of my neck, then, drifting down, touching feather soft, until they circle the bite marks on my neck.

I shudder under that touch, the ache growing brighter beneath my skin.

"But don't worry," she says, removing her fingers.

I'm breathing so quickly that I'm panting.

"I'll help you," she says then with utter nonchalance. "If you want me to."

"That's…very nice of you," I manage, glancing back up into her eyes. They're considering me, and for a moment, I see a flicker beneath them of something I can't quite place.

"I'm…very tired," I manage then, beginning to back away.

I run into Jane's table with my thigh, and she mutters something dark at me as her piles of cards for the game shift and merged together.

"I'm sorry," I tell her, and then I'm across the room and out the door before I can say or do anything else.

The corridor was blessedly empty.

I walk along it quickly, unhappily noting that the sun has slipped below the horizon.

Did I feel safe at the Mills Hotel?

Not really.

Then…why do I stay?

I don't know.

I do know.

I…wasn't completely sure.

Yes. I was.

* * *

** A/N:** Yes, I know, I'm sorry, there was a lot of Elsa appreciation, but everything has a reason so just go with it for now, okay? :)

Not sure whether or not I'll knock out another chapter tonight (or this morning I suppose since it's already 5am here), so if I don't, this is farewell until this afternoon, where the possibility of another shit load of updates awaits us because I'm currently sick and have nothing better to do.

So Goodnight/Morning.

******P.S.: **Lena = Zelena, Mu-Mu = Mulan, Elsa = Elsa (obvi), and Jane is just a random, in case anyone is curious********

Oh! And I love reviews, just sayin ;P

**xoxo - TheLoveOfApples**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N:** So, thanks to the lovely suggestion from EvilRegalRox, Jane has now been claimed as Jane from Tarzan! lol

Also, to the Anonymous reviewer who was asking about Ruby? Well, hear you go! :)

* * *

I practically run the rest of the way, up the flights of stairs and down the hallways, until I reach the room of my best friend.

I pound on Ruby's door.

She hadn't been in her room any of the recent times this last twenty-four hours that I needed her.

She needs to be there now. I need to talk to her.

Not about vampires.

Not really about vampires.

Ruby answers the door, her long, brown hair up in a towel, and her naked body sheathed in a bathrobe, her fingers on the knob pruned. I guess I'd gotten her out of the tub. Her eyes are wide as she looks me up and down, and then she's grinning just as widely as she practically pulls me into the room.

"Why did you get so dressed up?" she practically squeals.

She smells like orange and lavender, one of her favorite flavors of bath salts. "Are you seeing someone?"

My stomach twists in pain as I shake my head.

Did I want to be seeing someone?

Yes, yes I did.

But… "Anna," I whisper, then, and the joy and exuberance seems to fade almost instantly from Ruby's face. "I don't know what I'm doing," I tell her, gripping her shoulders with tight fingers. All of the fear of what might happen in the next few days, of all the vampires who "might" not have the Mills' values, even my fear of Mal, take a back seat to the feeling I'd been trying to quell this entire day. And failing to.

"Regina…" I trail off as I see the light come back to Ruby's eyes. I go to her bed, sit down on the edge of it, shoulders curving forward as I sigh. "I'm pretty attracted to her," I admit, then, in a whisper.

"Wow," says Ruby, cinching her robe a little tighter and going to sit down on her rocking chair. It's a sweet little antique one that gave a squeak each time she rocked. "I didn't think it'd be her that you fell for," she admits.

"What?" I ask, blinking. "Ruby, I shouldn't be falling for any of them. Anna—"

"Died over six months ago," says Ruby gently, patiently, as she'd said a million times before. "And it's only natural that you'd be attracted to a gorgeous woman.

These feelings aren't anything you should feel ashamed of, Emma," she says, leaning forward with another squeak. "I knew Anna," she whispers, her eyes wide as she breathed out. "And she'd be furious at you if she knew how you refused to get on with your life after she was gone."

I bury my face in my hands.

I was starting to forget how Anna looked when she smiled at me—just me. I was starting to forget how she smelled, the soft scent of her. In this place, I was starting to forget those beautiful little details that I wanted to impress on my memory forever. Was this right to forget them? I wasn't forgetting Anna, and I would never forget Anna. I'd loved her with everything that I was. But…wasn't being attracted to someone betraying her?

Ruby seems to sense my thoughts, for she gets up from the rocking chair, leaving it rocking without her, and comes across to sit on the bed beside me, a fragrant arm around my shoulder. "Honey, Anna loved you very much, and you were great together. But she's gone. You're not. You're alive, and you have to keep living, okay? And this is really, really great—I'm glad you're attracted to Regina. What do we think—is the feeling mutual?"

I consider Regina's smoldering gaze every time she glanced my way, the way she looked at me across a crowded room, like she could see to the deepest parts of me. But I didn't know.

She is an intense, beautiful thing. Maybe she looks at everyone like that. I wasn't special.

"I don't know," I admit.

The way she'd saved me after what Mal did replayed itself in my mind, the way she'd glanced down at me with those perfect brown eyes…but wouldn't she have saved anyone? What Mal did… I shivered.

"Hey," said Ruby, then, squeezing my shoulders. "You seem a little preoccupied…and not about Anna," she says, holding up a hand when I begin to protest.

"Did something happen?" Concern makes her brows furrow and she squeezes my shoulders again tightly.

"Are you okay?" The way she's holding so tightly to my shoulders makes the now even smaller wounds on my shoulder/neck pulse with a sharp ache.

I swallow and shake my head. "No," I tell her, lying to my best friend. "It's nothing. I'm fine."

"I didn't see you today at the front desk, but Regina said she'd been training you…" Ruby says, trailing off, searching my eyes, questioning. "But I didn't get training when I was hired here."

"Well," I say helplessly, staring down at my hands in my lap. I don't know what else to say. I've always been a terrible liar.

"But," says Ruby, with an impish smile, changing the subject smoothly—she knew when I didn't want to talk about something, "I noticed that we're both off the schedule tomorrow. It was sweet for Regina to make certain we got a day off together. So you know what that means!"

"I couldn't possibly guess," I mutter, weak with relief that she hadn't pursued her line of questioning.

Once Ruby gets it into her head that she's going to find something out, she always does. Always.

"We can head into town! I didn't really get to show you Storybrooke—a drive through in the middle of the night doesn't count at all. It'll be wonderful! We can do a little shopping, get a latte—have a girl's day, all to ourselves!" Ruby's enthusiasm is practically catching, even though—admittedly—the idea of shopping wasn't ever on my list of things I wanted to do.

I had hoped we'd get a chance to survey the magnificent rocky coastline—not a sales rack.

"That would be really nice," I tell her, then, feeling grateful that even though I was tremendously out of my depth, I still had my best friend to see me through all of this. She's so supportive, unfailingly and constantly supportive, and she'd seen me through so many other rough patches. Especially these last six months.

I turn to her and hug her tightly, and she grins at me. "Okay, so tomorrow morning, we're heading into town. Sound good?"

"Sure," I tell her, rising and stretching. She stands, too, holding her robe closed over her heart as she considers me.

"Are you sure there's nothing else you wanted to tell me?" she pries gently.

I shake my head—a little too quickly—and turned toward the door. "I'm just tired," I say, the wounds on my neck throbbing with ache. "I'm going to turn in early."

"Okay—knock on the wall if you need anything, okay?" She indicates the wall that stands between our rooms.

I nod and leave, my thoughts already a million miles away.

I promptly ran into Elsa.

"Whoa!" she grins as the door shuts behind me.

She holds onto my shoulders—I'd smacked into her hard—and looks down at me with a bemused grin. "Do you always assault people?" she chuckles, rubbing her jaw where my shoulder had hit her.

"I'm so sorry!" I murmur in horror, gazing up at her bright, flashing eyes, and her incredibly handsome features. Despite myself, my heart begins beating a little faster.

"I just came to see if you were all right," says Elsa, one brow up. "Are you?"

All right from what? The almost-drowning this morning? The fact that the vampires I'd now realized I was living with had wanted to vote on if I could stay or not? The fact that Mal had appeared at that "meeting" seemingly just to threaten me?

"I'm fine," I lie again.

Remember, I'm a terrible liar.

Her brows rise even higher at that, and then she's grinning at me, shaking her head a little as she shoves her hands into her pants pockets.

"I also came to see if you were hungry. What with the vampire blood coursing through you and all, I figured you might be." Her head is a little to the side, the brim of her fedora pushed back on her forehead so her eyes can appraise me.

My breath catches as she bares the full weight of her intense gaze down on me.

"I could eat," I tell her, the words hanging between us.

"Great. There's pizza down in the kitchens," she says, tossing her head toward my room door, but not actually at my room—in the direction of the kitchens somewhere in this sprawling house, I realize.

"Oh."

She stands there considering me—I hadn't realized she'd wanted to go with me (though why I didn't realize it is beyond me—I was thinking of too many other things). And I don't want to go with her to the kitchens.

The reason that moves through me so quickly I almost don't feel its absoluteness, was that I don't want to chance Regina seeing me with Elsa.

It was absurd.

I'm attracted to Elsa, but surely she isn't attracted to me.

Regina wouldn't think anything if I was with Elsa, and what if she did? I wasn't Regina's, and Regina certainly wasn't mine.

I was intensely attracted to Regina, wanted to get to know her better, wanted to be merely in her presence, but that didn't mean anything.

I realize my fingernails are digging into the palms of my hands as I consider what Elsa had just said. Her eyebrows rise as I wonder what I should say in return. I waited too long.

"Hey, it was just a question—no hard feelings if you'd rather rest," she shrugs, turning smoothly on her heel as she begins to stalk back down the corridor.

"No, wait!" I say, too quickly.

My heart screaming "no" at me as I swallow and nod.

"Yeah, pizza—that'd be great," I tell her with a gulp and a lie. "Just let me get a sweater?"

What are you doing, Emma?

What are you doing? It pounds like a litany in my heart as I unlock the door to my room with my skeleton key, taking one of my favorite light sweaters from the little closet beside the door.

The curtains on my window are open, and I see how dark it is outside, the clouds close and not even a hint of stars in the heavens.

I wasn't doing anything.

I was just going to get food in the kitchens with someone who'd wondered if I was hungry, one of my employers.

There was absolutely, positively nothing else going on.

And even if I did find Elsa attractive, it wasn't the same as Regina—this wasn't like Regina at all, what I felt for Elsa.

This is simply light interest, and nothing more.

But if it was so innocent, why do I feel guilty as I exit my room, as I slip the key into my coat pocket, and Elsa give me an appreciative, almost wolfish grin?

We walks down the hallway together, guilt making my heart beat faster. I kept wishing that it wasn't Elsa beside me.

I kept wishing its Regina.

"Do vampires eat pizza?" I ask her as we find our way to the spiral staircase.

We begin to descend.

She laughs, casting me a sidelong glance as she takes off her fedora and runs long, graceful fingers over top of her hair before replacing the hat.

"No," she admits with a grin, "but we have other human staff members here and we like to get pizza for them on Friday nights."

So it's Friday.

And that's right—I hadn't met the other staff members because the last two days had been a blur of vampire related activities.

I sigh and touch my fingers to the banister as we hit another landing and kept going down.

"The kitchens are actually in the basement," she tells me when we reach the first floor. So we take one more curl of the stairs down.

The basements themselves don't exactly look like my vision of a basement. They're completely finished and had just a little more chill than the floor above us.

We walk down the tiled hallway, no longer red and black, but some pleasing Tuscan-colored gold and brown, and enter the industrial sized kitchens.

The sprawling white-walled room is well-lit and looks like a cooking show could break out alongside its restaurant-quality ovens at any second.

Elsa crosses to the walk-in fridge and comes out with a gigantic box of pizza, about half as long as she is tall. The pizza inside is covered in foil, and she draws up two stools to the side counter as she sets it out.

I take out a piece, put it on a paper plate, and set it to re-heat in the only slightly small appliance: the microwave.

As I do these actions, going through the motions, I can feel Elsa's gaze on me.

When I glance back, over my shoulder, she has her chin in her hands as she considers me with flashing blue eyes.

"What?" I ask, suddenly self-conscious as I lean against the counter.

"Nothing—you just remind me of someone I used to know," she says, her head to the side as she gazes into my face.

"Anyway," she says, leaning back on the stool and hooking her elbows onto the counter space behind her.

"There must be something about you," she says, her mouth twitching at the corners as she tries to suppress a smile. "Regina did want you to stay."

At that, the butterflies I'd been trying to quell in my heart begin to flutter against the insides of my ribs again, pushing, poking and prodding with feather-soft wings of hopefulness.

"Why…why do you say that?" I ask, licking my lips and trying to appear nonchalant.

I fail at that as she chuckles at me, shaking her head, her braid swinging over her shoulder as she narrows her eyes.

"She said she wanted you to stay," says Elsa, one brow up. Her grin widening, then, as the microwave beeped, startling me.

"Say…do you have a thing for our fearless leader?" The last two words don't exactly sound like a compliment as she practically growls them.

I pause at that, but open the microwave door and take out my tasty conquest, blowing on the piece of pizza that made the paper plate elbow out in the middle.

I set it down beside Elsa and perch on the edge of the stool. I wasn't used to telling people my problems or my past, but I had just found out that Elsa was a vampire, so I figured it might be best to, in this at least, be truthful.

And, perhaps convince myself that I didn't actually have feelings for Regina.

"I…I don't," I lie, swallowing. "It's because…I mean, I'm still dealing with the fact that I lost my girlfriend six months ago," I tell her, chewing on my lip a little as I glanced down at the plate. "To a drunk driver."

"Huh," is all Elsa says, and when I glance back up at her, she doesn't have the patented, sympathetic, brows furrowed and frown that most people adopt when you tell them that your partner was killed.

It seems like she hadn't even heard me.

She's looking at me a little…hungrily.

I stare at her with wide eyes, and she blinks, seeming to realize she'd been staring. She shakes her head a little.

"Well," she says a little bitterly, pushing up her hat again as she sighs and leans a little harder against the counter with a grimace, "I guess that would make two of you of then. Regina lost her partner, too."

"What?" I ask, suddenly going cold.

Why did I have ridiculous, intense and painful jealousy that just, all of a sudden, seemed to be consuming me? It was too quick and sharp and far too potent. I swallow, clenching a fist under the table as I stare down at my soggy pizza.

"Her name was Danielle," says Elsa, drawing out the name with a languorous tone as I stare at her.

Another shiver moves through me.

She leans her elbows on the counter and glances sidelong at me with a frown. "She was…she was beautiful, I'll give you that. There was something about her, about her smile. It unnerved you, I guess, how good she was—she'd go out of her way to help you. Once, she helped me…" Elsa shakes her head, glancing my way, her tone—all at once softening—turned hard and malicious again.

"It was just all this unbelievable soul mate romantic crap between the two of them, Regina and Danielle. They were inseparable—were desperately in love. True love, they both said. Regina loved her a bit too much, if you ask me—it was practically obsessive," she mutters, rolling her eyes and glancing at the overhead fluorescent bulbs with narrowed eyes.

"So they were incredibly in love, but they still lost each other. Regina lost her a long time ago, a tragic death. So, since then, she hasn't dated or, hell, slept with anyone since in memory of her, like some twisted, tragic loyalty. Isn't that ridiculous? It's just…it's sick." She glances back down at me, her mouth turning up at the corners again as she laughs at it.

"That kind of stuff should be put in books and stay there. It's not realistic. Regina loved the woman, okay. Whatever. But after she loses her, turning into a chaste puritan or some shit in her memory? I don't get it. While I'm here, I'm going to enjoy life's little pleasures." She looks pointedly at the plunge in my dress that my sweater wasn't exactly covering.

I push my half-eaten piece of pizza away, drawing my sweater more closed over my chest.

I'd suddenly lost my appetite.

My heart felt like it was breaking.

So no. That meant that Regina didn't feel anything between us.

How could she? She was still remembering her soul mate love…her true love in Danielle, the woman she'd lost a long time ago. She was staying true to her, even after all this time, and how could I possibly begrudge her that?

Couldn't I, with how I'd mourned Anna, understand that much?

Yes, I know that I'd hoped that what I was seeing from her were signals, some sort of sign that there was interest there, in her toward me. But I'd misread everything—I'd been, in fact, completely wrong.

The space where my heart resides begins to actually hurt, a deep, piercing ache that pains me much more than the healing wounds in my neck.

I breathe out, trying to quell the rising pain, the deep and profound sadness that wants to fill me completely, when I hear, far distant, a gong that sounds a little like chimes or bells.

It reminds me of a front door bell.

Elsa raises her head, and smoothly stands, kicking the stool back under the counter with one shiny shoe and shoving her hands deeply into pants pockets, hunching her shoulders forward. "I'll talk to you later, yeah? That's the first guest."

As she moves past me, her hipbone grazes my side perhaps unintentionally, but my heart beats a little faster, my body responding to a signal when my head and heart weren't remotely involved.

She turns to toss me a smirk and a wink over her shoulder, but she keeps walking.

She leaves the kitchens, and I'm alone with my sadness.

Funny how a single piece of knowledge can make or break you.

I shouldn't be so utterly consumed by Regina Mills, but the feelings that I have for this completely unexpected woman in my life, that vampire, weren't something that I could have predicted, and it certainly isn't something I can control or quell, even if I'd wanted to.

And now I knew she could not or would not be mine.

When had it happened, her love affair with Danielle?

How long is a "long time ago?"

Centuries? A century? Decades?

Since then, Regina Mills had probably seen thousands of beautiful women, much prettier than me, more attractive, more beguiling, and had withstood all of them, if she'd ever even wanted anyone after losing Danielle.

Just because my heart beats faster when she was around, just because I'm drawn to her means utterly nothing.

I wanted her. She did not want me.

I wanted her.

I stand, picking up the greasy paper plate and the half-eaten slice of pizza and deposit them into the shiny revolving trashcan's mouth.

I put back the pizza box into the walk-in fridge, and I stand for a moment in the too-bright kitchens, rubbing at my arms with cold hands, my body curving toward the door.

I feel lost.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ Have no fear, just remember, always have hope! And always remember, SwanQueen **IS** endgame! :)

**XOXO - TheLoveOfApples**


	13. Chapter 13

Tears prick my eyes, but I refuse to let them spill.

Angrily, I dash them away with my sweater's sleeve as I glance around, realizing there's no reason for me to stay down here, in the kitchens. I'd lost my appetite and my hope for Regina, all in the space of five minutes.

I could find my way back to my rooms from here—you just keep heading ever upward, right?

I could get there.

But I didn't really feel at that moment, in my life, that I was remotely headed ever upward.

I feel stupid, shame coursing through me that I'd ever even carried a hope for Regina Mills.

How could I be so naive?

But when I closed my eyes, I see that perfect curve of her pale yet tan jaw, the slope of her neck, the full lips and the brilliant mocha eyes that pin me in place, that make and remake me as I'm consumed by them. I want to feel the silky strands of her hair as they drape around me, I want to feel the cool press of her lips against my mouth as she leans over me, her shadow covering my body, her hands against my…

I breathe in, breath catching in my throat as I stand, shaking beneath those too-bright fluorescent lights. Oh, how I ached.

What was wrong with me? Why did it hurt this much, this knowledge that Regina and I would never be?

I don't understand it.

I cross to the far side of the room, flick all the lights off, one by one down the row on the metal plate as I dash away more tears from my watery eyes, and I begin to walk down the corridor in the basement, my boots clicking against the tiles like my too-fast heartbeat.

Above me, I can hear muffled, distant voices.

I travel up the spiral staircase, and because I feel guilt at not remotely having done my job that day, I don't go back up to my room.

I hope that I'm not too flushed from my tears, but other than that, I'm presentable and whoever is currently manning the front desk probably needs some help if there are a lot of guests to check in.

So I walk down the hallway of paintings quickly, resolved, the red and black checkered tiles moving swiftly under my feet. I want to be helpful.

What the hell were they paying me for if I wasn't?

I pause, though, when I round the final corner past a painting of a man, sitting alone on a violet and gold mountain.

How fitting—it's how I currently wanted to be to deal with my pain.

But I wouldn't get the chance. Because there was a line of people and suitcases and trunks stretching out the front door.

And Regina, and only Regina, was behind the big, wooden front desk.

"The usual, Eleanor?" comes her cool, smooth voice, rolling across the space between us to wash over me.

When she speaks, my body responds, and I don't understand it, and I don't like it.

Not even Anna had held that much power over me, but when I hear Regina's tongue and lips form syllables, my heart skips beats, and I'm tugged closer to her, like she hold a rope around my heart and is squeezing, pulling, drawing me in.

As if she feels the weight of my gaze on her, Regina straightens, rolling up one of her dress shirt sleeves - her suit's jacket laying on the stool behind her - a little higher and glances in my direction.

Her dark eyes widen almost imperceptibly when she sees me, but she says nothing, only hands the woman before her, a stunning creature with pumps that make her practically walk on her tiptoes, and covered in an appalling fur coat, an old-fashioned silver skeleton key.

I make my way across the distance, sliding behind the wide expanse of the mahogany front desk, turning to Regina as she pushes the guest book gently across the table toward the next guest, a tall man with piercing brown eyes and a delicately curled mustache dressed in a smart tweed suit.

"Do you need help?" I ask her, and Regina then casts a sidelong glance at me, appraising me.

The corners of her mouth, to my delight, curl upward, and she nods a little, handing the man an expensive looking fountain pen.

"If you would give Reginald the key for 313, that would be lovely," she says, voice a rumble as she nods to him, the man scratching his name down into the book.

I turn to the wall behind the both of us, covered in pegs and keys on leather key rings like you might have seen a hundred years ago at the best hotels.

I chose the one beneath the small metal plate, corroded with rust, that reads "313" and hand it across the wide front desk to the man who exchanges the key with me for the pen.

The woman after Reginald has such pale skin it's almost translucent. Her face looks young, but there was an air about her of age and timelessness.

Her long, curling inky-black hair almost falls down to the backs of her knees as she steps forward gingerly, her midnight blue gown flaring out around her knees. It hangs off her painfully thin shoulders like it'd been sewn for a different woman.

She gazes at me with milky blue eyes as she tilts her head slowly. I shiver.

"Who's that?" she asks Regina, her soft voice high-pitched as Regina hands her the pen and pushed the guest book gently in front of her.

"This is Emma, Maggie," says Regina softly, her gaze not on the old woman, but on me. "We just arrived to help at the Mills Hotel—she's a new hire here, you've not met her before."

"Emma?" asks the woman, persisting, as if she disbelieved Regina. She reaches across the table, and I hold out the key that Regina had pressed into my hands with her cold fingers, but it doesn't seem like the key had been what Maggie is after.

Instead, she curls her bony fingers into my palm, groping my hand, as if she is searching for something.

"Regina, how foolish-this isn't Emma," says Maggie seriously, but Regina shakes her head, handing the pen to the next guest in line.

"I'm Emma," I tell this strange woman gently, but then her fingers are pricking my skin, her fingernails sharp and pin-like against me, more painful than they should have been, and her young-looking nose sniffs the air. She unnerves me.

"Maggie, here's your key," says Regina firmly, taking my hand in her right as she pushes the key forward with her left.

And the woman takes up that key, then, holding it over her heart as she cocks her head at me and looks at me with those strange blue eyes.

She can see out of them, it seems, because she follows me with her gaze as I step backward, but it seems that she was looking past me, too.

After a long, awkward moment, she curls her claw-like fingers around the key and turn, walking down the gallery of paintings with an uneven step, her back to me.

There were some in this first wave of guests who definitely struck me as vampires - like Maggie - but there were just as many who looked like they were on a business trip and were going to ask me if their room had Wifi and what sort of gym we had.

There were men and women who looked nothing like what I had ever assumed vampires to be—they didn't even appear pale, which I suppose is a bit cliché, but most of the Mills' were pale.

I was just doing my best to uncover everything I could about what made a vampire…a vampire. And those answers didn't appear as easily as I would have hoped.

After we've checked everyone in, Regina sighs, closing the guest book for the night, and plucks up her jacket from the stool, shrugging into it with one graceful motion.

"That's the first wave of them," she says then, her voice soft and deep.

I turn to her as I slid the pen into its little wooden box beneath the counter.

"For the Conference," she says, adjusting her jacket's collar and tightening her tie, straightening it with long, slender fingers. "Did anyone tell you about it?"

"Um, a little," I say, fingering the fringed edge of my sweater. "Vampires, from all over the world, come together for a…meeting?"

She chuckles at that, a sound that causes a - hopefully - imperceptible shudder of pleasure to move through me.

"That's…an interesting description. That's a little of what the Conference is, but there's more to it then that. You'll get to see it all—there's a dance at the very end of it…" She gazes at me quietly, her brown eyes constant and piercing.

We stand there then, just the two of us in the now quiet entrance.

My body curves toward her like an arrow, something I can't control, just like I can't control what I wanted or how much my heart hurts looking at her.

I know what I wanted. And it wasn't something I could possibly have.

"Do you always walk late a night?" Regina asks the surprising question, then, her head to the side as she considers me, her long, brown hair pooling over her shoulder.

I breathe in, paling. "How did you know that?" I ask her.

She shrugs a little, adjusting her sleeves beneath the jacket, tugging them out. "It was just an odd hour for a walk this morning. I wondered if you often do it."

She seems to be searching my face. "Yes. I love to walk at night," I breathe.

She doesn't look at me as she steps forward, her gaze is down, the intensity of her dark eyes muted by her long lashes.

She's close enough that I can inhale the scent of her, that delicious vanilla mingling with the rich, warm aroma of lavender and cinnamon that causes a tightening in my chest.

She shifts her gaze, and she looks down at me then, her brown eyes darkening as she gazes into me.

What is this then, if not attraction?

I want to ask her, ask her if my heart beating so quickly is answered by her own.

How fast can a vampire's heart beat? I wish deeply and darkly that it mirrors mine.

My breath comes fast and as she stands so close to me, her scent engulfing me with a want and a need that my body, my head and my heart are in complete and unanimous agreement on.

But then she straightens, her face suddenly becoming impassive as she turns away from me, walking past me and out from behind the front desk.

"I enjoy walking at night, too," she says then, her back to me as she pulls her ponytail over her shoulder and straightens it.

The shiny, dark hair lying in her hands like a pool of satin causes my breath to come shorter. I want to touch those perfect strands, run my fingers through them, take out her ponytail and watch the length and shimmer of her hair fall around her perfect shoulders.

She turns to me, her eyes searching mine as her head inclines toward the door. "Would you like to go for a walk with me?" she asks then.

Her words are soft and low, but still, in that stillness, they seem to be projected clearly into my heart.

"Yes," I'm saying before I've even processed the question, am already out from behind the front desk, too, already alongside her before my brain has caught up with the question asked.

The right corner of her mouth curves up a little at that, and she inclines her head to me in something that is almost akin to a little bow as she offers her arm to me once more.

I slid my own into hers like it's meant to be there, my fingers brushing against the cool softness of her suit jacket's sleeve.

We cross the space of the entrance together, and her hand is on the scrolled silver of the doorknob before she turns to me, one brow up.

"You're only wearing a sweater—won't you be cold?" she asks me.

"No," I tell her, which isn't a very convincing lie, but she shakes her head with a small, throaty chuckle, and then the door is open, and we are out beneath the stars.

The cloud cover from earlier seems to have lifted, for the heavens were spangled above us, brilliant and bright with the milky way arching overhead, pointing, it seemed, ever onward and downward, toward the sea.

"Sometimes," she whispers into my ear, the coolness of her breath making me shiver against her, "you can see the aurora borealis from here. A thousand colors, all drifting together like a great dance."

Her words wash over me, and I feel my heart lift as we stand together between the front columns of the Hotel, both of us looking up at that beautiful night sky, beautiful even without the sight of the aurora borealis.

I can imagine those colors, as her syllables enter me, but most of all, I can imagine watching it with her.

We take the steps and began walking across the gravel, our shoes crunching against it, toward the path that led down to the sea.

I should be unhappy to go back there—I did almost die there that morning—but I feel nothing more than giddy happiness - and, admittedly, a bit of cold - to be out here in the night with Regina and Regina alone.

I try not to think about what Elsa had just told me. That Regina had not dated anyone since her partner had passed away.

I was here with her right now, wasn't I?

And this was perfectly innocent, I know, strolling down a path with her, arm in arm—Regina is old fashioned, and offering her arm to me meant absolutely nothing.

I know that.

But just for a few moments with her by my side, I can pretend.

I can pretend that this is so much more than taking a late night stroll together, content in one another's companionship.

I'm not content. I know that.

It came quickly and fiercely upon me, this want and need, something I hadn't felt for so long.

And it frightens me, how much I want her to look at me with want, too.

I ached for that, the ache stronger than the wounds far above my heart.

But isn't it enough to be with her?

I feel, when I'm with Regina Mills, that all of the pain of my life is somehow lessened.

All of the scars on my heart, all of the moments I'd suffered, are somehow made better.

That's the only way I can think to describe it.

That, by being around her, the good of the world is confirmed, the miraculous and the beautiful are made clear, and I can suddenly see how lovely life is, how precious each day is, how important and beautiful a single moment can be.

I turn towards her, then, as we continue on our way down the smoothly sloping path, down to the sand and the beach.

The starlight is reflected in her shinning eyes, and they seem to glow from the light of the stars.

Her eyes are downcast, looking down at the beach, at the pulsing rhythm of the waves, but her gaze seemed a million miles away.

That is, until we reach the sand.

Regina turns to me, then, those mocha eyes, still so bright, even in the darkness, seem to be searching my face.

"I'm sorry about what Mal did to you," she whispers, then, her deep, dark voice so soft, so gentle, that I shivered as she stares deeply into me.

It feels like that voice is caressing me, the satin feel of the words drifting over my skin as I tilt my head up, as she tilts her head down.

She's standing so close to me, because she'd not yet let go of my arm.

I didn't want her to.

I hold tightly to it, because at least, for this moment, we are this close.

But she steps closer.

"I want you to know, Emma, that I will make certain it never happens again. I…I don't want you to fear being here. I want you to know that you are, and will always be, safe at the Mills Hotel." She searches my eyes, first one, then the other, her breath coming faster as she takes her other hand and gathers my fingers in its palm.

Her skin is so cold, and I shiver beneath that soft touch, as much as I shiver beneath her gaze, her words.

Wordlessly, Regina lets go of me, then.

She lets go, and she takes off her suit jacket.

Like we're in an old black and white movie, Regina slips the smooth material around my shoulders, tugging a little at the collar to straighten it.

Her hands remain curled against the collar. Over my heart.

"I'll keep you safe," she whispers.

I gaze up into her eyes, her eyes that reflect the stars back to me so clearly.

My heart beating too fast, my breath coming too fast, but still, I part my lips, I open my mouth.

I have to know.

I can't keep the question from being asked, so I simply speak it, "Why?"

Her brow furrows at that, and her head tilts to the side a little as she gazes down at me.

"Why do you want to keep me safe?" I ask, blood roaring in my ears, a blush crawling over my skin as I begin to wonder if I'd misread everything.

Elsa was right. There was nothing that Regina felt for me other than what an employer feels for her employee. Every employer wants to make certain their employee works in a safe environment, don't they?

I feel so stupid as I stand there beneath her gaze, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as I blink them back, as I begin to lean away from her.

The ache inside of me growing too tremendous for me to bear.

But then, Regina shakes her head.

She steps forward again, and then her hands over my heart are caught between us as she presses the length of her body against mine.

She's hard, her stomach, her legs, and she's so soft, her breasts, her gaze, as she stared down into me, into every place of me, seeing me wholly and completely as she breathes out, as the sweet scent of all that is Regina Mills washes over me, and my body responds to it, leaning toward her, drawn toward her.

"Emma," she whispers, and a shiver runs through me as this perfect mouth says my name, the syllable a deep rumble that moves through her into a softness as she gazes down at me.

"I want to keep you safe," she says softly, quietly, each word perfect and clear like the starlight above us, "because I am compelled to."

"Why?" I whisper, every inch of my skin hot, my heart growing within me.

"Because…" She searches my face carefully, as if she's memorizing every curve of my skin, because, in that moment, I'm memorizing hers.

"From the very first moment I met you, touched you, there has been something in me that is answered by you," she whispers as I begin to shake against her. "I am compelled by you and your presence, I am drawn to your voice, your shape, everything about you, the very essence of someone I know completely. Though I've never met you," she breathes, searching my face as I stand up on my tiptoes as I softly, tentatively wrap my arms around her waist.

It's an unconscious motion, but suddenly my arms are there and they feel so right on those perfect curves that I ache for touching her, ache deep within my body, a pleasant, delicious ache that seems to spread through the whole of me.

"There is something in you, Emma," she whispers, "something that calls to me."

She turns her face slightly, and she bows her beautiful neck, but she did not kiss my mouth.

She presses her lips to the skin of my neck, and I shiver under the cool softness of them, shiver as I arch my head back, exposing more of my skin to her as her mouth opens, and she pressed one sweet, salty kiss to my skin.

"It calls me gently." Another kiss. Lower.

I breathe out, close my eyes, feel the press of her body against me, my arms gripping around her arms now as she presses her open mouth against the skin of the space at the base of my neck, where it meets my chest, that small triangle there.

"It calls me strongly," she whispers, and then she's straightening, her hands at the base of my neck, pulling me forward, and another strongly and tightly at my hips as she guides her own against mine.

"You call me, Emma," she says.

She kisses me, then.

Her mouth is soft and cold and warm, all at once, and it's open against me, her lips against mine, breathing me in as she kisses me gently at first.

But I wrap my own arms around her neck, and I draw her down to me, pulled tight and strong against me as she tilts her beautiful head and kisses me deeply.

She tastes cold and sweet, like peppermint, but there is an unfamiliar taste to her, too, something metallic and almost too sweet, but I hardly notice as she presses against me, as her mouth grows bolder, asking for more.

I open up to her as she presses her chill fingers against my neck, causing a shudder to move through me, a shudder I can't quell.

The jacket falls from my shoulders, falls with a shush against the sand as we became wrapped in one another's arms.

I want her with such a sudden and intense ferocity, I'm consumed by it.

But I don't want to press her, push her.

Elsa had told me that Regina had lost her partner…how long ago? Maybe decades or only a few years, but maybe it had happened hundreds of years ago.

I did not know how long, but that she was changing how she approached the world for me was a precious thing I wanted and needed to honor.

I craved her in such completeness that I almost weep from how much I want her, how much I felt for her.

Was this possible?

It had only been a few days, but somehow, impossibly, I have found myself falling for Regina so quickly and utterly that there is no part of me that is not wholly consumed by her.

She consumes me like fire, and nothing of what I had once been remains.

I feel remade by her.

I feel undone by her.

Her hand behind my neck creeps to the edge of my dress's top as she kisses me, her delicate thumb pressing under the material at the neck to the skin there.

I breathe out against her as she presses her thumb's pad to me, how searing cool it is, but I'm so hot beneath her that the cold and hot seem to merge, somehow.

I lean against her, breathing out.

And against me, Regina stiffens. She pulls back from me, her breath coming quickly, in short gasps, as she gazes questioningly down at me.

"What is it?" I whispers, trying to keep my voice calm, quiet.

It echoes around us, melting with the shush of the waves, far down the beach.

"I heard…something," says Regina, then, carefully, glancing back up the path we'd come down.

There is nothing there, only the low angle of the path, and—far above us, on the cliff—the shrubs that had been planted there who knew how long ago.

She glances down at me again, and her eyes are dark, almost black with longing that I very much respond to.

She wraps me in her arms, and she bends her head to drink me in again… But she paused.

We both turn. And I knew that we had both seen it.

Coming down the path toward us was the lone figure of a woman. She walks slowly, carefully, as if she doesn't know the way, her hair streaming out behind her in the starlight could have been any color, but it was full and curly and wavy and she wore a dress that flows out behind her, too.

Though the night is very cold, she wears no coat or sweater, only a dress that has no sleeves, of a gauzy material that would be better worn in a painting than in real life.

But as she comes toward us, a strong, bad feeling begins to unfurl in my stomach.

Regina stares at this woman as she comes closer, as her features became more distinguished, and then the unthinkable happened.

Regina steps away from me.

She steps away from me, and she stands there, in the dark, as the woman pauses at the very edge of the path, her bare feet an inch from the sand.

There is something so strange about her.

So familiar.

I stared at her, at her long hair that somehow, impossibly, I know is red, at the upturned nose and the smiling mouth and the curvaceous body.

She holds out a single hand.

And it's not to me.

Regina takes one step forward, her mouth open, her brown eyes filling with tears as she whispered one word.

And it's that single word that breaks my world apart, "…Danielle?"

* * *

**A/N:** Ahhh! I know! I'm sorry! Please don't hate me! This part of the story has to happen, it's not all flowers and butterflies in the world of vampires. And I did warn you that it was going to be a slow-burn * winces and hides face behind hands*

This chapter just happened to be the unlucky number 13.

And the next few chapters aren't going to be the happiest for our favorite couple, but please, _PLEASE_ remember that SwanQueen is endgame. I will be constantly reminding you of that, over and over again, as the story progresses, so just hang in there.

Let me know what you think!

**XoXo - TheLoveOfApples**


	14. Chapter 14

Regina stands squarely on the sand, staring up at this impossible ghost from her past, this beautiful woman who stood above her on the path.

My mouth is still warm, still wet from our kiss, and my whole body is alive from that kiss… But it seems, as Regina stares at this woman, that Regina doesn't even know I'm here anymore.

Standing above her, on the path down to the sea, is a beautiful creature that I shouldn't recognized—but do.

She has long, flowing red hair, and is wearing a gauzy, flimsy dress that's almost suicidal on this chilly October night, with the ocean crashing away behind us, its frothing waves pounding against the unrelenting sand. But as the chilling wind blows, stirring the sea grasses and moving our clothing about us, this stranger doesn't seem to care about the cold, about her dress, about anything really—except for Regina.

She holds one pretty hand out to Regina, palm up, long pretty fingers extended toward her, curling slightly as if she beckons Regina forward, and Regina who watches this woman move with haunted eyes opens her beautiful, full lips and repeats the word, the word that had destroyed me.

"Danielle?" Regina's voice, usually so smoky and smooth and low comes out anguished, pained as she stands there with her legs apart, her hands curled into fists.

Though she stands with her usual graceful strength, though she leans forward powerfully, she's shaking a little, I realize, in shock.

Regina looks like she sees a ghost, but the woman before us is too substantial to be anything other than real.

She isn't transparent.

She's…real.

And if this is Danielle, the Danielle who Elsa had told me about only that afternoon, then it means that this is the Danielle who Regina had loved with all of her heart, the Danielle who had supposedly died, though I don't know how long ago.

The Danielle that Regina had sworn was her true love and soul mate, what Elsa had called "romantic garbage."

But Danielle was dead, or—at least—she was supposed to be, had been, and though Elsa hadn't told me how long ago it had happened, she seemed to imply that it had been at least decades, if not longer, since Danielle had walked the earth.

And though Regina had, since Danielle's death, not even looked at another woman, when I'd arrived at the Sullivan Hotel…well. We both started looking at each other.

And Regina had been falling in love with me, and I'd been falling in love with her, and now my entire world of possibilities was shattered by this beautiful stranger walking down the path to the beach, a sure smile on her lips as she holds both of her hands out to Regina now.

To take back what had only been hers.

What had never been mine.

A single tear falls down Regina's cheek from her mocha eyes, eyes that are often so expressive, intense, that house the deep power that thrums through Regina, the power that had first attracted me to her.

But there is nothing but sadness, but confusion on her beautiful face now as she stares up at Danielle, as that one tear seems to catch all of the starlight in the sky as it falls slowly over her perfect, pale skin.

Danielle—if that is, in fact, Danielle—takes the last step down from the path, and she is finally standing on the sand of the beach itself.

She was about a head shorter than Regina - while standing in her heels - but power seems to radiate from her like heat as she takes one last lazy step forward to stand right in front of Regina.

She lifts her pale arms around Regina's waist, and then she's drawing Regina closer.

Regina caves to her, pressing herself against Danielle's body, then, as she puts her long-fingered hands against Danielle's face, cupping her fine cheeks in her palms, peering down into her eyes, searching them for some sort of answer.

"But…how?" Regina whispers, searching her face, her own contorted with anguish.

"You were dead." The word comes out broken.

Danielle gazes up at her adoringly as my stomach turns, as she shakes her head, the red waves of her hair shifting lightly. "We have a lot of catching up to do," she promises, her voice as soft as a purr, and then one of her hands is at the back of Regina's neck, and she draws Regina down to her.

And kisses her.

Revulsion roars up through me, though I should have felt nothing but happiness for them.

Danielle, the love of Regina's life, her soul mate, had supposedly been dead. And now…she obviously isn't, because she stands there, pressed against Regina so tightly that there isn't a molecule of space between their bodies as their mouths merge together.

And it's wonderful for Regina to have her back.

I love Regina-I want her to be happy with all of my heart. I should feel happy for her, should be joyful for her.

But I can't.

And as I watch - I can't tear my eyes away-I know I should give them a private moment, but I can't…too much feeling roars through me - Danielle's eyes flick open, her long black lashes fluttering against her too-pale face.

She's positioned in such a way that she can just peer at me over Regina's shoulder.

And she does.

As she kisses Regina, the woman I had, not a moment earlier, kissed myself, drinking her in as one of the best, gentlest and most beautiful experiences of my life, this new woman now, this new woman who is destroying anything I might have ever had with Regina, stares at me.

Her eyes flash and narrow in the darkness as if she's laughing at me.

She looks, in that moment, smug and confidant.

But there's something else there, something deeper.

My stomach turns as she stares at me over Regina's shoulder, eyes wide in the darkness.

There's something…wrong there. Something deep inside her that I can only see a shadow of.

But it's enough.

I can't watch anymore.

I reach up, brush my fingers over my own lips, feel a great sob begin to rise in me, and I can't be there.

I can't see it.

I'm too upset to think clearly—how many people have just had their first wonderful kiss with a woman they think could be the one, and then any possibility of that gets snatched away almost immediately after?

Probably a very, very small number in the whole history of the world.

And here I am, lucky enough to be one of them.

I choke down my small sob, leaving Regina's coat—the one she'd so generously and chivalrously put around my shoulders only a few short moments before—crumpled on the sand, like all my hopes.

I move past Danielle and Regina, Regina who is too wrapped up in the embrace and kiss to even notice I'm leaving.

I run the rest of the way up the path.

I don't look back once.

When I'm far enough away that I think they won't hear, I let out my breath in a great, rushing sob, pressing my hand against the side of the cliff face, almost doubled over with grief.

It feels like my heart is being squeezed.

"Breaking" isn't the appropriate word, really.

It feels more like my heart is being destroyed.

I wish terrible things in that moment.

I wish I'd never come to the Mills Hotel.

I wish I'd never left my plain, boring life in New Hampshire, the life where nothing exciting ever happened to me, where I could continue to live in the same apartment I'd lived in with my now dead girlfriend, keeping everything from when we were together, from when she was alive, constant so that I could never, ever, ever get hurt.

I wish, in short, that I'd never tried.

It's because I came to Maine that this has happened. It's because I tried new things that this happened. It's because I'd tried to be brave, build a new and different life for myself, that this happened.

I run across the gravel parking lot, the sprawling red stone walls of the Hotel towering overhead seem to leer toward me, utterly foreboding and not the least bit welcoming.

I'd thought this big red stone house was going to be my new home, full of possibility.

And all it has brought me is sadness.

I push open the front door, and there, in the large waiting area of the hotel, sits a woman I'd never seen before, lounging on one of the antique velvet-covered couches in the waiting area before the front desk.

She wears a short black pencil skirt and cream-colored blouse, and her dark blonde hair is swept up in a messy updo.

She looks like she should be behind a desk in a mahogany-colored office, but instead she is sprawled on the couch, the first few buttons on her blouse undone…and there is Elsa, practically straddling her.

Drinking from two tiny wounds in her neck.

Elsa's fangs, exactly like when Regina had given me blood back in order to save me, are elongated and lengthened, and her tongue makes little wet sounds as she suckles at the wounds, her eyes almost rolling back in her head as her hands squeeze the woman's breasts like they were on a bed somewhere hidden away, instead of in an entrance to a hotel.

Unlike when Mal lured me out to try to drown and drink me dry in the ocean, this seems like a consensual sort of thing, though it still turns my stomach as I watched the pretty woman writhe beneath Elsa's administrations, the blood seeming so red beneath the hotel's lights.

Elsa's long blonde hair is being held in the woman's pink-nailed hands, and her fedora is on the other side of the couch, as if it'd been tossed off in a hurry.

I walk past them quickly.

But even though Elsa is…occupied, she still notices.

"Emma?" She slurs the word as if she's about five or six beers in to the night.

I wonder if drinking blood does something for vampires, and then realize that's probably a silly question.

Of course it probably does something for them, probably make them feel drunk or who-knew-what-else, or why would they ever do it if they didn't have a reason to?

I still have a lot to learn about vampires.

No.

Maybe I have nothing more to learn about vampires.

Maybe I'll leave.

I walk quickly down the hallway, ignoring Elsa's calls after me, but then she's trotting after me, buttoning up the last few buttons of her spotless white shirt, adjusting her tie so that it's straight, and plunking her much-abused fedora on her head.

She is a very clean drinker, it seems.

Her lips are a little redder than usual, and her incisors are descended, but other than that, there isn't a speck of blood on her.

"Hey," she says, all but dancing in front of me, holding out her hands, her brows furrowed as she frowns down at me. "What the hell's the matter?"

"What do you care?" It's a petulant, childish reaction, but I'm too upset and too tired to be speaking to anyone right now. I want her to go back to that pretty woman and keep drinking and to leave me the hell alone.

"Emma, what's the matter?" she repeats, stepping forward, her strong hands closing around my upper arms.

I stand there, then, her skin radiating heat through my sweater. Maybe it's because she'd just fed that she's warm, I think dully in the back of my mind. Usually, vampire skin is freezing.

And why does she care?

"I thought you said Danielle was dead," I tell her, then.

It comes out a little dazed, and as I say the words, I look at Elsa's face.

She lets go of me.

She steps back as if struck.

She, too, looks like she's seen a ghost.

"Emma, what do you mean?" she whispers, her eyes wide.

Around us, the hall of paintings stretch on with the little lamps over the frame of each, showcasing the piece of artwork, the only light in the hall, the red and black tile floor beneath our feet seeming to devour that sparse light.

"Good night," I mutter, moving past her.

I don't know what else to say.

I'm sure Regina is going to use the front door when she and Danielle are done on the beach (done with what? Oh, I'm just hurting myself now to think of Regina's hands on Danielle's body, to think of Regina's mouth…no, no, no, I have to stop thinking about that), and then if Elsa kept sucking on that woman back on the couch, she'd see exactly what I've been talking about.

I think for a moment that Elsa is going to follow me, press me for answers.

But she, mercifully, doesn't.

I walk quickly to the far spiral staircase, and I ascend the steps until I reach my floor, and then I run the rest of the way to my door, fumbling with my skeleton key at the lock.

It's very late when I finally enter my bedroom.

I collapse on my bed.

I don't even take off my sweater or my shoes.

I pillow my head in my arms, curl up my body like it's under attack, curling tightly in the fetal position, and there are no sobs, no sound, as the tears leak quietly from my eyes, falling soundlessly to the coverlet beneath my arm.

Every time I close my eyes, I see Danielle and Regina together, kissing, embracing, Danielle's eyes open and wide and staring at me with the exact same expression I think a wolf must wear when it closes in for the kill.

I don't want to replay that moment over and over, so I try to stare at my pretty turquoise walls, try to keep my eyes open, try to think of nothing.

But I must close my eyes eventually, because I fall into a deep, dark sleep.

* * *

**A/N:** I'm sorry, just keep repeating "SwanQueen is endgame...SwanQueen is endgame..._SwanQueen IS ENDGAME_!" over and over in your head, it should help lol

Next chapter coming up soon!

I like Reviews, they make me smile :)

**XoXo - TheLoveOfApples**


	15. Chapter 15

_Somewhere, in the back of my head, I knew I was dreaming. _

_Because Regina was kissing me again. _

_Danielle wasn't there. Perhaps she'd never come. _

_I could hear the ocean behind us, but it sounded…different, the sibilant hiss as it pounded against the shore taking on a different cadence then what I was now used to on that stretch of Maine coastline. _

_Even the stars overhead, where the constellations had swung low, toward the water, were also different, as if it was a different time of year. _

_But I wouldn't know what the sky looked like there at any other time of year because I'd only been at the Mills Hotel a few days, had never experienced it in other seasons. _

_But still, the stars were different. _

_And it was strange. _

_Regina backed away from our warm, passionate kiss—I could feel my heartbeat strongly in my lips, surging through me, the softness of her mouth, the warmth and brightness of her body against mine, how sharply I noticed each sensation, her breasts pressing against me, the angle of her hips hard against mine. _

_She backed away, and she looked down at me with those bright, brown with a deep longing that moved through me, captivating me, pinning me in place. _

_She wore different clothes, older clothes, I suppose. _

_It looked like she was dressed up for a costume party in her long velvet coat (I couldn't tell the color in the dark) with the lace-edged sleeves, the high collar and the plunging neckline. _

_But draped over the collar and against her cream-colored neck was a looping black necklace, all shiny black beads and bright silver chain that flashed in the starlight. _

_My eyes were drawn to that, to the rise in her chest, and she laughed a little, a low, growling sound that made my skin rise with goosebumps, made me shiver as I stared up at her, then. _

_We were no longer on the beach. _

_Or perhaps we'd never been there, and I'd imagined everything else. _

_For now we stood on red and black tile in a large, impressive-looking room complete with chandeliers covered thickly with guttering tapers and candelabras and floor to ceiling length mirrors, and women and men in long gowns and long coats, danced together to a piece of music that was vaguely familiar and classical. _

_Outside of one of the tall windows, the stars continued to burn as Regina took my hand with her icy fingers, began to lead me in the dance. _

_We passed a mirror, and as I glanced at my reflection, I began to feel cold._

_It wasn't _me_ in the mirror._


	16. Chapter 16

I breathe out, eyes open in an instant.

But as I pant in and out, trying to calm my racing heart, bits and pieces of the dream began to disintegrate.

The harder I try to hold on to them, to remember them, the faster my impressions of the dream disappear.

I lay there for a very long moment, aware that there is sunshine pooling warmly on the floor, that it's morning.

I close my eyes and listen to the sounds of the house waking up.

Somewhere on this floor, someone is playing a classic rock station, and I can hear a much-muted guitar riff.

There's the clank of pipes and the white-noise of running water rushing through the old walls.

They were all good, comforting sounds, and as I stretch in bed, I brush a finger against my lips.

And then I remember Regina.

I blush as I lay there, remembering our kiss, remembering her cool mouth against mine, how I'd felt, in that moment, so completed, so undone by her.

She'd told me before she'd kissed me that I compelled her, that she was drawn to me.

I was so purely happy in that moment.

All of my feelings for Regina…she'd felt them, too.

And then everything else from last night comes rushing back.

And I remember that I have nothing at all to be happy about.

Because somehow, impossibly, Danielle has returned.

And she has taken Regina from me.

It isn't true, though. I have to be honest with myself.

Danielle had, of course, come long before me. Regina was hers, had always been hers. She had never been mine.

But true or not, I feel it fiercely. It feels, to me, that Danielle has taken Regina from me.

And it feels very wrong.

There's a sharp, bright knock.

I eye my door warily, but I have no choice but to push off my covers, shove my feet into slippers, wrap my robe around me and shuffle toward the door.

Ruby stands there, decked out in new, low-riding jeans and a pretty blue blouse that plunged dangerously low at her neckline (too low to be around vampires, I think wryly, but I know that my best friend has no idea what this house was currently inhabited by).

Her little traveling purse is on her shoulder, and her feet are currently being tortured by bright blue high heels that not even a stunt walker would probably try.

"Emma, you're not even dressed!" she sighs in exasperation, casting her eyes heavenward in a what-am-I-supposed-to-do-with-you expression of long suffering.

She pushes past me into my bedroom and begin pulling out drawers on the antique wardrobe.

"There's a ton of stuff I want to show you in Storybrooke, and we don't have all day!" she mutters, pulling out jeans and underwear.

"Well, actually, we do have all day," she announces brightly, throwing a shirt in my direction.

I catch it without thinking. "But there's a lot of stuff to see. Chop, chop! Put this on! Five seconds or less, missy!"

Oh yes.

Right.

Ruby and I had decided last night that we were going to go to Storybrooke together so that she could actually show me around the little town I was now calling home.

But that was before…everything.

"Ruby, I don't actually think…" I begin, but Ruby turns to me, putting her hands on her hips and raising an eyebrow. Her crazy brunette hair is curled even more than usual, and stands out from around her head as if she'd stuck her finger into an electric outlet. It was not without its charms.

"You are not backing out on me, missy—I don't care if you're hung over or whatever," she says with no sympathy, placing her hands at the small of my back, shoving the jeans and other things she'd chosen for me into my arms and then shoving me through my small bathroom door.

She shuts it behind me with a thud of finality. "And don't come out until you're ready!" she announces from the other side.

As much as I love my best friend—and trust me, she's saved my life a couple of times, and I love her a lot—I can't fathom gathering enough energy for a girl's night—or day—out.

After all, let's be honest, Ruby wants to show me a town I'm not even certain I should be living in anymore.

As I stare at myself in the small bathroom mirror after flicking on the light, I see my reflection's eyes narrow.

Mirrors.

That's odd.

I sort of remember something strange that had happened with mirrors, something like a dream…

"I don't hear you moving around in there!" is Ruby's utterly ridiculous comment from the other side of the door.

"How hung over are you?" Ruby had rearranged heaven and earth to help me move to Storybrooke, including getting me the job at the Mills Hotel sight unseen. Yes, I'm miserable, but it would only be a human thing to do to keep my promise to her.

I sigh, wash my face and brush my teeth, and throw on my clothes, pulling my hair into a ponytail.

My blonde hair, usually fine and tangled anyway, was especially tangled after such a restless night, so I yank a brush through the finalized ponytail and adjust it in the mirror. I don't have the heart to put on any makeup, but at least I don't look—after I'd scrubbed my face—like I'd cried all night. Which I most certainly had.

So I guess that's a start.

I open the door and Ruby wraps an arm in mine, practically dragging me to the door.

I snatch up my skeleton key from the table beside the door and snatch up my coat, and then we are out in the hall and practically to the stairs before I can blink.

"I'll drive!" she sings out.

As we began to descend the spiral staircase, my heart seizes.

I don't want to run into Regina.

Frankly, I don't want any possibility of running into Regina, and if I see Danielle first thing that morning, with her smug smile and dark eyes and hands all over Regina, I figure I'd probably die on the spot.

Though Regina had certainly not paid any attention to me last night after Danielle had showed up, I don't want to talk to her about the events of the evening just yet.

And I'll do anything not to see the smirking, self-assured Danielle ever again.

"Is there a way out to the parking lot from the basement?" I murmur quietly to Ruby.

This is the first moment that she casts a sidelong glance at me oddly—I think she's finally realizing that something isn't right.

"Yeah, there's a couple of doors out from the kitchen," she says, wrinkling her nose as she stares at me with wide eyes. "Emma, what's going on?"

"Oh, you know," I mutter, glancing ahead and down the staircase to see if anyone else is on it.

Thankfully, there is no one. "The usual," I sigh.

"Huh," is what Ruby snorts, but makes no other reply.

When we hit the ground floor, we kept going all the way down to the basement.

The kitchens—empty the night before—are now bustling with the impressive energy of only one woman. She stands a little shorter than me, her petite body curvy and very pretty beneath her knee-length pink dress with a scooped collar, showing off her pearl necklace.

Her blonde hair is in two ponytails that dangle around her face as she sticks a finger in a metal bowl on the table and licks it with a thoughtful expression on her face.

She wears a little makeup, and her full, bright pink lips seem like they turn up at the corners pretty often.

"Molly, this is Emma," says Ruby, as we pass through the kitchens, toward the far half-glass door that seems to be radiating sunshine from down concrete steps.

"Emma, this is Molly—she's our cook and does a ton of other stuff at the hotel." Molly snorts at that, licking her finger completely clean before offering me her hand to shake.

I grin a little and take it—her smile is infectious. "It's so nice to meet you, Emma! I've heard so much about you, all good things, I promise," she winks.

"So how are you enjoying yourself here so far? It's an easy job, isn't it?" she continues, steamrolling over anything I might have said. "They're so easy going, those Mills women, and they're just the nicest, the whole lot of them. I know you haven't been here long, but I want you to hear from me first, so I've got to tell you, I'm pretty sure they're all gay, and that's pretty great, I think, and I'm trying to get at least one, maybe two to give me a go, because I only took this job here because a friend of mine told me a rumor that they were all lesbians, and who wouldn't want to work at an all-lesbian place if you're a lesbian? I mean, it's—"

"Molly, we're kind of late—but we'll come back for dinner, yeah?" asks Ruby, all but shoving me at the small of my back again as she continues to push me through the kitchens and toward the door.

"If you're going into town, for the love of whiskey, get me a latte!" Molly calls over her shoulder as she takes another finger-full of whatever she'd been whipping up (I'm pretty certain it's cake batter), and licks it again with a thoughtful expression on her pretty face.

"I love her," Ruby murmurs as she shuts the door behind us and begins trotting up the concrete steps toward the parking lot, "but she will literally talk your ear off if you let her. Literally. I don't even know if I have ears anymore, can you check for me?" She turns her head to me with a laugh.

I chuckle a little at that and draw my light jacket tighter about myself.

It's a beautiful October day, the kind that people say you only get in Vermont, but I know that's not true. We had plenty of beautiful fall days in New Hampshire, too, and Maine is proving to be pretty similar in all the rich, gorgeous fall colors, crisp breezes and brilliant blue skies that contrast so well with the breath-taking crimson of all the maples.

The maple trees around the edge of the Mills Hotel are that bright red, now, and as we moved through the gravel parking lot toward Moochie, Ruby's beat-up blue van that has somehow survived several years as her only transportation, a brisk wind begins to move through the trees, making them shake their leafy heads and bringing with the wind the distinct nippy chill of a brisk fall day.

As Ruby unlocks her driver's side door, I draw the jacket even closer about myself, standing on tiptoes and peering over the far hedge wall that I know separates most of the parking lot from the cliff path and the ocean.

The rolling blue far out to sea has high white breakers that seem to roll endlessly, and the prick of salt tickles my nose.

It's beautiful—breathtaking, even, that view.

But it holds no joy for me today like it should have.

As I turn my attention back towards the van, the hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I'm assaulted with the sensation that I'm being watched.

I turn towards the red brick face of the hotel next to me and gaze up at it as a flash of movement catches my eye.

There, up on the second floor, I can see a sheer white curtain blowing gently in the autumn wind, the room behind it pitch black.

But as I try to focus harder on the room, squinting my eyes, I see a flash of white-tan skin, silky dark hair and haunted brown eyes standing in the shadows.

I blink in shock and suddenly the sensation is gone, the window once again closed, and the figure that I had thought I'd spotted, gone.

I sigh slightly before just shrugging it off as a cruel trick played by my mind.

Because why the hell would Regina be gazing at me through the window?

She has Danielle, her lost love, back.

"Okay," says Ruby, one brow up imperiously once I'm in the passenger's side seat, clicking my seatbelt on. "You've got to spill."

"Spill what?" I ask. My voice sounding falsely bright, even to me.

Ruby rolls her eyes so hard, her head seems to roll with them. "What. The hell. Happened?" she asks, dropping her van keys with a metallic jangle onto her jean covered lap and folding her arms with an expectant sigh.

I gaze out at the ocean again, working my jaw.

Well. I didn't really have to mention anything about vampires.

"Remember…" I clear my throat when it comes out like a croak. "Remember how I told you last night that I was attracted to Regina?"

"Yes," says Ruby, drawing out the word as her other brow Emma to accompany the first one. "Whoa…did you…" She trailed off, blinking. "Did you get together with her?" she whispered.

"Yes. No. No…" I mutter miserably, placing my face in my hands and massaging my forehead with my fingertips. "There was a…complication."

I lick my lips and think, ruefully, like the fact that she's a vampire, and I'm a human, and if you've ever seen any sort of television show or read a book about a vampire and a human together, when has that ever really worked out for the best?

"Her…her ex came back last night." I wrack my brains as I try to figure out the easiest way to translate the fact that Regina's long dead ex-soul mate has seemingly come back from the dead to make out with her on a beach last night, just moments after I'd had that remarkable pleasure.

I move my hands down to massage the back of my neck and grimace as I glance sidelong at my best friend.

My best friend who's staring at me with her mouth open.

"Are you serious?" asks Ruby quietly. "I thought her ex was…well. Dead."

Why was I always the last to know about everything? I sigh in exasperation and shake my head, leaning back against the plush softness of Moochie's seat.

"Yeah, well," I mutter, "I guess she wasn't as dead as everyone thought she was."

"Honey, you know I love you, right?" asks Ruby after whistling lowly. "But you attract trouble like honey and picnic baskets attract bears. What the hell? Her ex, who—by the way if I remember correctly—she pined over for years comes back from the dead when-"

"When I was kissing her on the beach," I groan, putting my head in my hands again, pressing my palms to my eye sockets so hard I begin to see purple.

"God, it was terrible," I groan again, but then tears began to force their way between my sore eyelids, and I'm holding back a sob.

"Honey, honey…" says Ruby, leaning over, and then she's squeezing me tightly, her warm arms wrapped around me with the same fierce strength she'd had when Anna died.

"I mean, it was just bad luck, right? It's okay…I know you really had a thing for Regina, but you just got here, yeah? Lots of other fish in the sea. Er. Hotel."

I sigh for a long moment.

Ruby was understanding and wonderful and the most caring best friend that anyone could have ever asked for. And I know she's been wanting me to move on with my life—and my love life—after an acceptable mourning period following my girlfriend's accident and death. But I wasn't like…that.

I'm not the type to jump from woman to woman—I've never been that type.

There was something in Regina that had spoken to me, and she'd said the same on the beach last night, that there'd been something in me that had spoken to her.

I draw in a shaky breath as I remember, _'From the very first moment I met you, touched you, there has been something in me that is answered by you…' _

Though I had learned that the women (the vampire women, I reminded myself with a small sigh) in the Mills Hotel were lesbians, it doesn't mean that I can move from Regina to someone else, quick as you please.

My brain and heart were subdued, for a small moment, by an image of Elsa that flashes before my eyes.

Elsa with her smug grin and confidant eyes and how she'd straddled that woman last night, licking her lips as she licked her neck…

I sit back in the passenger side seat as Ruby straightens, too, searching my eyes.

Elsa is gorgeous, and she's sexy, but she isn't Regina.

Yes, my body responds to Regina—I think anyone's body would have responded to Regina. But my heart calls to her, and somehow, impossibly, a deeper part of myself calls to her, too.

And now that would never be.

"I'm sorry I'm a little maudlin today," I tell Ruby by way of apology. "I'm going to try to have a good time, but I…have a lot on my mind."

Ruby's mouth twists into a frown. "I'm going to force you to have a good time," she promises, picking up her key ring and starting Moochie's engine.

It grumbles to life, the van shuddering beneath us. "I want you to count your blessings," says Ruby, then, as she begins to roll the van out of the parking lot.

I snort in spite of myself. I…really couldn't think of anything to be grateful for.

I hadn't exactly had an incredible or amazing life before moving to Storybrooke, but at least it had been my own.

Now I'm living in a hotel full of vampires, the vampire I was drawn to desperately had just had her dead ex-lover appear out of the blue… What, really, did I have to be grateful for?

"It's a beautiful day?" I try, though it comes out a little grumbly as I stare out the window with a sigh. "Ruby, do I really have to—"

"What else?" asks my relentless best friend sternly.

"I'm grateful for you," I mutter, but this came out with a little bit less of a grumble.

Ruby shoots me a sidelong smile and nods, prompting me to continue.

"I really can't think of anything else," I tell her, watching the brilliant trees roll past. It really is a beautiful day, but I'm in no mood to enjoy anything.

"Can I tell you something?" asks Ruby in that conspirator's little voice she'd had back in college when she'd try to set me up with the sexy female bartenders at one of the local dives.

I sigh. I knew that tone.

"Yes?"

"When you came to me last night and told me that you were attracted to Regina…" She trails off and puts on her turn signal as she crawls to a stop before Storybrooke's first light.

The trip down the hill had been shorter than I'd remembered it.

"I really thought you were going to tell me you were attracted to Elsa…not Regina."

I snort with laughter before I realized she'd been serious.

I'm speechless then, flustered, as I try to come up with a verbal reason of why absolutely, positively Elsa wasn't right for me.

As if she'd want me anyway.

I remember the blonde last night, practically writhing beneath Elsa. I probably wasn't her type.

"I want a relationship," I point out to Ruby, then. "I don't want a one-night stand."

"Why do you think Elsa's not capable of a relationship?" Ruby snorts.

The town of Storybrooke spreads out before us with its colorful, quaint shops and myriad of open parking spaces, even on a Saturday. She eases into an empty parking spot along the main street.

"Because I don't think she is," I say adamantly, shaking my head as I swing my purse up on my shoulder and hop out of the passenger side, shutting the door firmly behind me.

"Emma, you're kind of old fashioned," says Ruby, then, trotting forward and putting an arm around my shoulder, gesturing with her other hand at the town.

"And you've come to a sort of old fashioned place, which is great. But you want this sort of old fashioned love, with a woman coming along and sweeping you off your feet, the kind of love they put in storybooks. I'm not saying it can't happen," she interjects, holding up a finger when I began to protest, "but I don't know if you'll be satisfied with any woman." Her voice drops to a whisper as she searches my eyes. "You told me, once, that you weren't even satisfied with Anna."

I remember that conversation, even as the blush rises on my cheeks.

Anna had been away for the weekend to visit her favorite aunt in the Bay, and Ruby had come over for a "weekend-long girl party," which was really only an excuse to drink a lot and try to make home-made ice cream from a recipe she'd found on the internet. I'd had one too many mixed drinks, and then I was pouring out my problems to Ruby, because she'd always been the one I could tell anything to. And yes—I'd told her that I loved Anna, and I wanted to spend the rest of my life with Anna…but sometimes, in the dead of night, I'd wake up from a dream I couldn't quite remember, glance over at my girlfriend who lay, sleeping and beautiful and breathing evenly, and think that being with her wasn't quite right.

Ruby is searching my face as she steps forward, as she places her fingers on my shoulders and shakes me a little with a small frown. "Emma, you can't spend the rest of your life waiting for something perfect. 'Perfect' will never actually happen. Find a woman who makes you happy and settle down with her. Life's short. Don't spend it waiting for a storybook romance. There's no such thing."

I don't agree. I knew that, as I stare into her eyes, too, unflinchingly.

She's right, of course.

I did want perfect.

I want the type of love that would make every morning, no matter what it was doing outside, beautiful.

I want the type of love that grows with time, that never wanes.

I want the type of love that makes my heart rush ten years from now, twenty years from now.

I want the type of love that makes my body turn when she enters the room, that makes every cell in my being drawn to hers.

I've always wanted that.

And I wouldn't stop wanting it.

And, if I was being perfectly truthful, there had been something in Regina…something that seemed like that sort of love was starting.

But I shake my head as Ruby steps back, as we begin to walk along the old, uneven sidewalk.

"Elsa told me you were cute this morning. She was in the kitchen, and we ran into each other," says Ruby quickly when I glance at her with wide eyes. "She wanted to know if you were taken. And I took the liberty to tell her you weren't."

I work my jaw, biting at my lip hard enough to keep my mouth shut.

I love Ruby, heaven knows I love her, but she'd always been a meddler in my love life.

"But I'd just told you last night I was attracted to Regina—"

"Well, yes," says Ruby, smiling innocently. "But it's not like you're in a relationship with her. And, if Danielle has really come back…" She trails off, gazing into a shop window. "Then you're not going to be in a relationship with her."

It's painful and honest, that truth.

I gaze into the shop window, too.

It's a vintage clothing shop, and the old mannequin in the window is sporting a beautiful aqua-colored dress with a wide yellow belt, a pair of yellow pumps discarded at the base of the mannequin, as if the woman wearing them had tossed them off and run off barefoot.

My brain notices those details, but my heart doesn't.

My heart is thinking about Regina.

About her full, cold lips, her shining mocha eyes. The tilt of her head as she stares at me across the room, her gaze so intense that it burn with cold fire, taking a pull from her cigarette, clasped in long, elegant fingers…

"It just doesn't seem right, somehow," I tell Ruby softly, fingering my purse's strap without thinking. "I don't understand why Danielle came back. Elsa told me yesterday that she was dead. I mean, that's not something you really come back from. So what happened? Why is she back? And why did she come back at the exact wrong moment?" I swallow back the tears that immediately threatened to erupt from my eyes.

I take a deep, quivering breath, as Ruby and I begin to walk down the sidewalk again. "It just doesn't make any sense. There was something about Regina…" I murmur.

Ruby walks beside me silently for a moment.

She doesn't have a good explanation for the coming-back-from-the-dead thing any better than I do. So she steers the conversation away from it.

"Well, we're using today to forget about your troubles," she says, affectionately draping an arm around my shoulder again. "Welcome to Storybrooke, honey!"

It really is a beautiful, quaint little town.

There are old shops and buildings lining the main street that are filled with the scent of salt. The buildings are painted in bright colors, and though things are pretty shabby, they also seem remarkably charming.

The little book store we passed, a hand-written sign in the window proudly declaring that science-fiction was half off today, had the book store's name hand-painted on a piece of driftwood that swings in the wind over the main door to the shop. The sign is hand-painted, like I remember the sign welcoming us to Storybrooke had been.

It's little details like that that make me like the little town almost immediately.

Technically, I shouldn't like it, I shouldn't relax my guard enough to like it, because I should be deciding if I want to stay here or not.

But I know I shouldn't bring up that consideration to Ruby.

She's done so much to get me to move here, to restart my life, and I know she'd be hurt and more than a little displeased that I'm considering uprooting myself yet again to return to a place that had nothing for me either.

Maybe Storybrooke has more surprises in store for me, I think, gazing into the shop windows, eventually chuckling (though only a little) at my best friend's jokes as the lovely October sun swings lower in the sky.

But I really have no idea what surprises are yet to come.


	17. Chapter 17

"Are you sure you don't want to head back to town, go bar crawling?" asks Ruby as she shuts down Moochie's motor, palming the beat-up blue van's ring of keys and glancing sidelong at me in the dark. Her eyes are wide and imploring.

"It'd only take a few minutes to go back down to town, and you could meet some of the people who live here—it'd be great, make new friends, have fun," she offers.

I know Ruby wants, more than anything, to go out drinking, and though I'd been trying for the past couple of hours to get up the energy to visit a couple of bars and drink away all of my most recent sorrows (which would probably involve more alcohol than a body could take), it has been a very long day.

I'm even a little sunburned because the sun had been out in very full force for an October day, but that's the problem with blonde-headed women: we burn easily.

What I really want are my slippers, a cup of tea, a good book and a plush chair after a probably revoltingly long bubble bath where all my fingers and toes prune.

I'm turning into an old woman.

"I'm exhausted," I tell Ruby, shaking my head and offering an encouraging smile.

"I had too much fun today!" I tease her with a grin. "But that doesn't mean you can't go have even more fun, I mean, isn't that what Saturdays are for? Why don't you leave Moochie here, walk back to town—it's less than a mile or so, isn't it? You can go to the bars—weren't you saying that that one bar, you were friends with the bartender?"

"Free shots," Ruby sighs wistfully, staring in her rearview mirror at the lights of the town rolling away below the parking lot of the Hotel through the trees.

"You should totally go," I tell her resolutely, unlocking my seatbelt, and fishing around behind me for my one lone shopping bag, a paper bag containing a scarf I'd found at Storybrooke's little second hand shop. Winter is on its way, and the bright purple scarf would go well with my red winter coat.

"You'll have fun," I tell her firmly, "and I don't want to be a wet blanket. I want you to go have fun—we had a really awesome day, and you deserve the cherry on top."

Ruby pockets her keys and nods, opening up the driver's side door. "You know, I think I'm going to do it," she says, shoving her hands into her pockets, too with a grin.

We both get out of the van, and Ruby locks the doors, pulling her jacket snugly around her shoulders. "Are you sure you don't want me to head back with you?" she asks, wavering, jerking her thumb up at the impressive red stone structure.

The Mills Hotel seems to be glaring down at us in the half-full parking lot. More guests seemed to have checked in while we were gone that day. "We could get food from the kitchens, paint our toenails…" Ruby trails off. She doesn't sound excited about these prospects at all.

"Go back to town," I urge her, crossing my arms against the chill wind that blows off the ocean. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay," she says with a big smile, already walking away across the parking lot and toward the road. "It was a great day! We should do it again!" she calls over her shoulder.

"Have fun!" I yell back, and then I turn, staring up at the Mills Hotel.

I hadn't exactly forgotten my troubles that day, but the innocence of shopping, of laughing in the coffee shop…it had made me misplace my worries, if only for a little while. It had been…nice.

But now here they are again, all wrapped up in the nice, neat little package that was the Mills Hotel.

I sighs, hitching my purse strap up higher on my shoulder, and begin to make my way toward the entrance to the hotel, with its shadowy columns and gargoyle-bedecked red marble planters that were sized just big enough to contain dead bodies.

That had been my very first thought upon entering the Hotel, and it wasn't exactly forgotten now that I knew the hotel was full of vampires. I skirt the sprawling planters and ascend the few steps.

The front lamp over the door is on, and a bright glow fills the porch as I make my way toward it.

A soft, sweet salt breeze angles its way in front of my nose, spiraling up from the ocean, and, for a moment, I had half a mind to make my way down the cliff path and take a night stroll on the beach.

It would be very cold, but probably worth it—the moon is out, and it isn't full yet, but its gibbous bulk swung low in the sky, illuminating everything with a soft, heavenly light.

It'd be so easy to put off facing my troubles for a few minutes more… But I square my shoulders, lay my hand on the antique doorknob, and open the front door of the Mills Hotel.

There is no one in the front entryway, which is a sort of relief. I hadn't exactly expected Elsa with another woman, but I wouldn't have been surprised if I'd seen her.

The entryway itself with its lush, comfortable couches is empty, but there is a woman I didn't recognize behind the front desk. She has short brown hair, as short as a man's, but she wears a soft, feminine blue dress that clings against her hips and flows out around her knees.

It's much too summery to be worn in such cold temperatures, but she looks perfectly comfortable, as she glances up at me over the edge of the novel she holds in her well-manicured hands.

She wears a little makeup, and her glasses, perched on the bridge of her nose, look designer.

"Are you Emma?" she asks me with an easy smile, shutting the book and setting it on the counter as she hops off the stool.

"I am, yes," I tell her, returning the smile.

I'd met a few vampires, and for some reason, this woman strikes me as absolutely, positively human.

"I'm Clare, one of your new co-workers—it's really great to meet you," she gushes enthusiastically, and I think she means it.

She pushes her glasses further up her nose and glances down at a post-it note next to the guest book.

"I was told to tell you that the minute you come in, Regina wants to see you—it's kind of urgent. She's been in her office all day, and she's probably still there," Clare says, gesturing down the hallway toward the stairs.

"So…" My heart leaps up into my throat, and I pause for a moment, my hands forming fists, the plastic from my shopping bag handle practically cutting into my palm.

"Where is her office?" I ask her, trying to keep my voice carefully neutral.

I think I fail at this, however, because Clare's eyes widen, and she puts her head to the side as she considers me.

"You go down the hallway, up the stairs, and she's on the second floor, first door on the right." Clare rattles off the directions as if she'd had to tell them to a few people recently.

Then she leans forward over the desk a little, her palms flat against the antique wood, as she frowns.

"Emma, are you all right? You look a little pale."

"I'm fine," I lie automatically and straighten my shoulders.

I have no idea what Regina wants to say to me.

That she wants me to leave the hotel? That was the first thing that crosses my mind.

That, after the awkwardness of kissing me and then having her lover come back from the grave, she doesn't want any distractions around.

But if that's what she wants to tell me, maybe that's for the best. Because being around Regina, around this impossible woman who draws me to her like a flame lures a moth…maybe this isn't so good for me, too.

I breathe out, nod to Clare and try smiling at her, but it comes out as a sort-of grimace.

I slowly begin to walk along the corridor of paintings, across the red and black tiles, toward the far staircase. I climb each step like I'm heading to my death.

I don't want to leave the Mills Hotel.

I did, but I didn't.

Part of me knows that it would probably be for the best if I left this place, left it and all of its vampires and secrets and beautiful women behind.

But the other half of me cries out at the very thought.

I love Regina.

I know that.

I'm falling in love with her, and I want to be near to her.

But do I?

Do I, when I know the consequences of it?

That she would never be mine, that the both of us aren't meant to be, that I could pine after Regina in these hallways and rooms for the rest of my life, wishing for something that's impossible, because she's somewhere in the same beautiful old building, with the woman she's meant to be with?

I know I'm torturing myself, circling the questions over and over again, but there are no easy answers.

I reach the second floor and walk woodenly, stiffly, to the first door on the right.

Like the other doors on this floor, it's impressively carved with vines and tiny cherub faces peeking around carved violets in the well-polished dark wood, and as I step close to it, placing my knuckles over the wood of the door, I inhale, my heart beating even faster.

I smell the rich, earthy scent of cigarette smoke, and that beautiful aroma of lavender and cinnamon that seems to cling to Regina's skin.

"Come in," comes the velvet voice from the other side of the door.

I hadn't even knocked.

Somehow, she simply know I'm there.

I open the door.

Regina has stood, behind her desk, and she's staring at me now in the dusky confines of the room that's fogged with smoke.

Smoke from countless cigarettes, the ends of which litter a cut-glass dish on the side of the ornate, mahogany desk.

Behind her rise massive dark bookshelves, covered with thick, old tomes, the metal words stamped into their bindings almost glowing in the dark.

A Tiffany lamp with a lampshade covered in cut dragonflies that glitter with light, is the only source of illumination in the room.

And though the lamp is very beautiful, though the bookshelves are very impressive, and there are probably hundreds of antique books here, I hardly even see any of it.

All I could do is stare at Regina.

I'd had thoughts, on the way up the stairs, that I could be around her without being irresistibly drawn to her.

After all, I'm not a prepubescent boy.

I'm a grown woman in her twenties, and I'd been around the block a couple of times.

I know self-control, and I happen to have quite a great deal of it.

It's ridiculous to think that I can't be in the same room as Regina and not want her.

But the room we are in now, her office, seems smaller than I thought it'd be, and the space between us, even with the heavy antique desk, seems to shrink, even though I don't move, though Regina doesn't move, though we stand, frozen as statues, gazing at one another.

She stares at me with those violently dark eyes that seem to flash, like lightning over the ocean before a storm, all crackling, intense energy that could destroy so much in an instant.

My God, she's beautiful.

The suit jacket lays along her curves and lines, ones that I can't help but follow, her tapered, pale fingers grips the edge of the desk, and her long, sweeping ponytail is swept over her shoulder, brushing against the arm of her jacket, the dark brown hair looking so soft, so inviting, I want to step forward and touch it.

But then she's striding out from around the edge of the desk, and the door is shut behind me, and my purse and my shopping bag fall to the floor as Regina's cold, long fingers curl around my upper arms, and her beautiful, fierce gaze pins me to the spot.

She searches my eyes as I stare up at her, as my heartbeat, burning too fast through my body, makes me shudder beneath that gaze.

I can't speak.

I know that if I did, if my mouth tasted her name, it would all be over.

And I won't do that to her.

I already love her too much to cause her any pain.

Instead, Regina is the one who speaks.

She lets go of my arms, even as my heart cries out for the loss of that brief contact.

She takes a step back, and then she's was leaning against the desk, raking those long fingers through her long hair as she gazes at me with that same fierce expression.

"I'm sorry," is what she tells me, then.

And her voice is so low, so sad, it tears me apart.

"Regina," I say, because I have to.

My lips speak her name, and my heart sinks in me as I hold out my hands to her, palms up.

"What we…what we had. What we were beginning…" The words sound strange to me.

I don't know exactly how to phrase it.

What we'd started?

What that kiss, last night, had started?

I clear my throat, breathe out for a long moment, close my eyes, because I can't look at her anymore, can't look at those piercing eyes that seem to pin me in place, can't look at the curves of her hips, half-hidden beneath her suit jacket, but that I'd felt last night, my fingers curling around them as if it was the most natural thing in the world for my hands to be against her skin.

"Is it over?" I whisper.

I open my eyes after a long moment in which there is only silence.

My cheeks have begun to burn.

Had I been projecting?

Had the kiss been nothing more than a kiss?

But no, she'd said things last night, and it didn't matter if Danielle had come, she'd still said them.

I would have that memory forever, no matter what.

And despite Danielle's appearance, last night something had begun, and I had a right to know if it was over now.

She stares at me as she works her jaw, the muscles clenching beneath that too-pale skin.

Those devastating eyes are wet, and she glances away from me, blinking back tears as her pink tongue darts out and wets her lips.

Regina leans back on her hands against the desk, her shoulders curling toward me, even as my own eyes are drawn to her chest, to the creamy shirt beneath the suit jacket, the tie that seems to curve toward me, over her breasts.

I swallow, breathe out, curl my hands into fists and let them fall to my sides.

My entire body angles toward her as if she's the sun and I'm the earth, caught effortlessly in her gravity.

"Emma," she whispers, and I stare at her, feel my own eyes filling with tears, but I blink them back furiously.

I stand, and I wait.

"Emma, it's…" She trails off, glancing sideways, her jaw working again as she clears her throat.

"Danielle and I…we have a history," she says then, pushing off from the desk, taking a single step towards me with a hand out to me.

She pauses when I don't take it, when I stand still and listen.

She drops her hand, the fingers brushing against her pant leg as she sighs.

"I thought Danielle was dead," says Regina softly.

"She was supposed to be. But she is no longer, it seems. She is, in fact, a vampire," she says, and there's a slight chuckle to the end of the words, but there is no humor in it.

She continues to search my face, my eyes, as she speaks those words.

Danielle had become a vampire? If she hadn't died when she was supposed to, then where had she been all these years when Regina had been in mourning?

Something feels not quite right.

Regina shakes her head, takes another step toward me.

Her cool body is now close enough to touch if I could gather the courage to sweep up my hand, tuck a loose strand of impossibly soft dark hair behind the luminous shell of her ear.

But I stay still.

I listen, even as I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood.

I taste metal in my mouth, and Regina stares at me with those perfect brown eyes.

Stares at me, and pins me into place.

"I wasn't toying with you," she says then, and it sounds so tired, even to my ears.

"I want you to know that. Nothing about what I said last night wasn't true. It was all true. How drawn to you I am." Her voice has dropped even lower, is husky and smoky and smooth, and my entire body shudders beneath that sound, even as she takes a step even closer, close enough now that when my breath comes out, shaky and small between us, I can see it uncurling and unfurling in front of us like a ghost.

Regina is so cold that I can feel the chill of her, even a few inches away.

I can breathe in the scent of her, the scent of the cigarettes, the spice of her.

"I know you weren't toying with me," I say softly, the words coming out broken.

I close my eyes.

It hurts too much to look at her, at her hard beauty.

Then, my hand in a fist at my side, feels too cold.

Her fingers are curled around my wrist, and they burn there, against my skin, but then she's raising my hand toward her mouth, and I'm gazing up into those eyes again as she brings those perfect cold lips against the skin of the back of my hand.

And she kisses me there, as she gazes down and into my eyes with a gaze so fierce and full of longing, I find that I can no longer breathe.

"I must tell you," she says then, her smoky voice so quiet, I strain to hear her, even as those full, lovely lips move to the words.

"Every night," she says, and a low, broken sob seems to be caught in her throat as she blinks back tears again.

"Every night," she tries again, licking her lips as I watch her, mesmerized, "I have dreamed of this impossible thing. Of Danielle finally returning to me after all those years. Of how it would be when I picked her up, lifted her and held her to me as I turned around and around like a slow motion reunion scene from a movie," she chokes back a laugh, but it's partially a sob.

"It was a nightly dream," she whispers, searching my eyes. "Every night since she was taken from me, Emma, I dreamed of her returning," she says.

I wait, my heart beating so fast that its thunder and her voice is all I can hear, the gravity of her deep brown eyes the only thing I can see.

The pain and hope unfurling in my heart the only thing I can feel.

"But last night, for the first time in a very long time, I did not have that dream," she murmurs.

I realize, at that moment, how close her face is to mine, how close those perfect lips are to my own.

I close my eyes and inhaled the scent of her, inhaled the coolness of her mixing with my own heat.

"Last night," she whispers, her cold lips against my cheek, my body trembling beneath that feather-light touch.

"Last night," she repeats, voice low and husky and strong, "I dreamed of you."

My breathing comes too quickly, my heart beating too fast.

Her fingers are curled around my wrist and against my hand, and her cheek and lips are pressed to the side of my face as she breathes.

I want to stay in that moment forever.

That one, singular, perfect moment where nothing in the outside world with all of its troubles and problems can reach us, where we stay in the small, dark sanctuary of her office and we are the only two people in the entire universe.

But moments come and go, and perfect moments leave us even faster.

The door behind me opens, the hinge creaking as the heavy wood is pushed inward slowly.

Regina straightens, gazing over my shoulder as her brows, furrowed from her confession, smooth, and as I gaze up into her dark eyes, I see her gaze shift, see her expression change.

Pain passes over her face unmistakably.

"Danielle," she whispers, and the pain is replaced, smoothly and easily, with an expression I can't quite read as I turn, taking in this beautiful creature who stands behind me, glaring daggers into my back.

I'd wanted so much, after last night, to never see her again, but it was a childish want.

If we were both going to be living in the Mills Hotel, we were probably going to be seeing more of each other than we would ever want.

In the light of the lovely Tiffany lamp, Danielle is more beautiful than I remembered her on the beach last night.

Of course, last night, I'd had only the light of the stars to see her by.

Here, now, in the lamp light, I can clearly see her soft, creamy skin, her long, wavy red hair, and her sumptuous red mouth.

Now, her curvy body is encased not in a flimsy, gauzy nightgown, but in a bright red dress that is knee-length, but low in the front, showing off her womanly assets with curvaceous abundance.

Her soft arms are crossed in front of her, and her long red nails are painted the same red as the dress, and glitter dangerously in the light.

It's so strange, looking at her face, at her gracefully curving nose, her wide mouth with its full lips and her flashing green eyes.

It's like seeing a ghost.

She's beautiful, but there is something so strange about her. I can't place my finger on what about her makes me uncomfortable…I just am.

Maybe it's how oddly familiar she is…

"Danielle," says Regina's smoky, smooth voice.

The woman, whose bright green eyes are pinned to me, straightens a little, her brows rising as she walks past me into the room, her hips swaying.

She walks past me as if I wasn't even there, her hip brushing against mine not in sensual contact, but rather a bump. A bump that is crystal clear: leave.

"I missed you, baby," Danielle whispers, her voice feather-soft as she reaches up her lovely arms to wrap them around Regina's neck, drawing the other woman down into an immediate kiss.

And it was a very…heavy kiss.

I back up.

I can think of nothing else to say to Regina, and it's quite obvious that our talk is over.

My eyes blurred by tears, I back out of the room and pull the heavy door shut behind me with a click.

The last image I have of the two of them is Danielle wrapped around Regina, of Regina's eyes closed and Regina's cold, long-fingered hands on Danielle's hips.

And of Danielle's eyes open and narrowed in a grim smugness as she stares right at me, drinking the vampire in.

It makes me sick.

With a hand over my stomach and trying to calm the fact that I want to sob, I begin to walk briskly down the corridor.

I need some air.

Why had Regina wanted to speak with me?

Hadn't it just made things worse?

She'd apparently dreamed of Danielle every singe night since she'd gone.

But if Danielle was a vampire and had loved Regina so desperately, where the hell had she been all these years?

And if they were really soul mates, that sort of love doesn't just…stop. And it's certainly not put on pause for a couple of decades.

So why, after all these years, had Regina not dreamed of Danielle last night?

Why had she dreamed of me?

There are too many questions and too much pain, and I'm beginning to drive myself crazy with all of the uncertainty and hurt swirling in my heart.

I'm walking so quickly and in such a haze of upset that I, of course, am not exactly paying attention to my surroundings.

When I briskly round the corner in the hallway, I have no thought other than Regina.

Which is why I run into Bell.

Literally.

"Oof!" says the vampire, still standing, even as I threaten to teeter backward.

She grabs my arms and holds me steady, keeping me from reeling backward, as she gazes down at me with concern.

From the very first moment I'd met Bell, I'd felt that she was one of the most wonderful women I'd ever meet in my entire life.

Yes, she's a vampire, but there is something about her.

She seems so kind, and it's as if we'd known each other all our lives, how easily we fell to talking.

Here and now, seeing her friendly face gaze down at me with concern, her brows drawn together and her kind eyes wide, it's more than I could take.

Slowly, softly, tears begin to leak out of the corners of my eyes.

"What's the matter, Emma?" asked Bell, her mouth curving downward into a frown as her cold hands tighten around my arms. "Are you all right?"

"No," I tell her.

It's impossible to lie to Bell.

"I'm not all right."

"Hm," she sighs, her head to the side, concern making her brow furrow. "Is it anything a good glass of brandy could cure?"

"I don't think so," I tell her, shaking my head.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

I gaze into her large, brown eyes, my own wet with tears.

"Yes," I say simply.

* * *

**A/N:** Let me know what you guys think! I love to read your theories on what you think is going to happen!

**XoXo - TheLoveOfApples**


	18. Chapter 18

"…I want to be happy for Regina," I finish, my hands curling around a large mug of tea, the steam curling off its surface bringing the fragrance of peppermint to my nose.

"And I am," I add hastily. "But…"

Bell lounges easily in the red plush chair, her legs crossed at the knees, one long calf resting on her thigh like she's at a gentlemen's board meeting.

She'd loosened her bowtie, and had set it on the mahogany table beside her chair, and her creamy shirt's top few buttons are undone.

She is beautiful and graceful, like Regina, but when I gaze at her, I feel nothing but admiration. It's strange, really.

Bell is really my type, but there isn't a bit of attraction there.

She'd just listened as I'd poured out my heart to her, making tea over the fire in an old-fashioned kettle and pouring the water into a generous blue pottery mug and over the peppermint leaves that had lain, curled in the bottom.

We'd gone to her apartments to talk, and we'd remained in her living quarters, a beautiful room with tall ceilings, and very old wallpaper covered in faded blossoms.

Everything in the room is antique and well cared for, and I feel immediately at home here.

Bell sighs and uncrosses and re-crosses her legs, working her knuckles under her jaw as she thinks for a long moment.

"I must admit," she says quietly, "Danielle is quite different from how I remember her. Regina brought her to our study this morning, and it…" She trails off, her brows furrowed as she grimaces. "It wasn't exactly like old times."

"I just want Regina to be happy," I say again, leaning forward, resting the mug's bottom in my lap as I adjust my grip on the handle and, raise it, taking a sip.

"And Danielle was supposed to be so important to her. Her…soul mate." The words go sour in my mouth.

Bell straightens at that, a wistful smile curling her lips.

"Well, yes. Danielle was Regina's soul mate. I've never seen two people more in love. They had this sort of…well. Electricity between them." Bell's head is to the side as she shakes it.

"That's why this isn't adding up. Danielle has given us no explanation as to where she's been all these years other than 'detained.' The Danielle I know would never have been 'detained' for so long and apart from Regina for so long. And she wouldn't be so…smug about returning." Bell frowns again.

"I feel strange about it. I'm glad that you came to me. Regina didn't tell me about the fact that she didn't dream about Danielle last night. She normally tells me everything…" She trails off, her long fingers drifting around and around her own mug's rim.

"How long have you and Regina known each other?" I asks her, then.

Bell looks up, her lips curving into a smile.

"Oh," she sighs, leaning back in her chair, her eyes gazing over the top of my head.

"For a very long time," she tells me.

She glances back down into my eyes again.

"A very long time," she whispers.

She gazes at my face, but she isn't really seeing me. Her eyes are unfocused. It's as if she's staring into a window of memory… She blinks, suddenly back in the room as she smiles.

"Would you like me to tell you how Regina and I came to be…" She gestures down at herself and taps her lips with a little chuckle, "the way we are?"

"Yes," I tell her, the cool scent of peppermint unfurling in my mouth as I take another sip.

Bell leans back in her chair, gazing up at the ceiling for a long moment.

"It began the day I died," she whispers.

_...A very long time ago, over three hundred years ago now if you'd believe it, we lived in Spain. Regina and I had grown up in a very small village near the coast where everyone knew everyone else, and it was such a hard life full of dawn to dusk work to survive, but we were content in it. _

_Regina wasn't called Regina back then. Her mother had named her Hope, the very last thing Regina's mother did before she passed, having brought her only child into the world. _

_Back then…well. It wasn't so easy to love women if you were a woman yourself. _

_Hope and I knew the truth of each other, and in the very beginning, when we were teenage girls, we'd kissed one another in my father's thatched barn during a rainstorm, our very first kiss. _

_We both agreed that this was what we wanted, but oh how we'd laughed after kissing each other. We both knew we wanted women, but we did not want each other. _

_We became so close, after that. _

_We were both comrades in a secret sort of society that contained only each other. _

_And we kept those secrets close. _

_One day, I was out in the fields with Hope. We were breaking up the sod, for it was March or so, and the winter had been treacherous and we needed to begin the planting, or there would be nothing to eat that year. _

_I still remember those wants and worries. If you didn't plant your own food, you would be so hungry that winter, you might perish. _

_My mother was a drunkard, and my father had gone on to meet his god when I was very small, so Hope helped me with my fields often. _

_I remember that day. _

_The sun was bright, but wan in the sky. There was the scent of spring in the air, of a quickening of green that I could almost taste, and energy surged through me as we methodically broke through the chunks of sod, making the dirt ready for the seeds. _

_Our village was out of the way of most of the major roads, so there was little more than a footpath that connected our village to the next one. But still, we heard the tell-tale creak of carriage wheels over tussock meadows, and we both straightened, squinting into the sunlight. _

_There was a coach coming along that footpath. Two massive black horses pulled it, and the driver was cloaked and hooded in black, even in the fine daylight. _

_The coach was black, black as Death's own coach, and as it trundled over the rutted earth, a chill passed over me. _

_We had stories, in old Spain, of banshees—dark spirits-coming to scream at us when death approached, and it seemed, at that moment as we both straightened and looked at that black coach, that a faint scream came, shrill and sharp, into the air. _

_But there was no one around to have screamed it. _

_The massive coach with all of its fripperies and ornamentation creaked to a stop beside our stretch of field looking so wildly out of place that in any other situation, I might have laughed at it. _

_The driver dismounted with a great leap from the top of the coach, which seemed almost impossible, as it was a good almost ten feet to the ground. _

_It was almost otherworldly, the way that he leapt and then straightened, too, and he was opening up the door of the coach before we could even blink. And out of that door was thrust a delicate, expensive black boot. _

_And attached to that pretty little boot was a woman. _

_She descended down onto the ground in a swirl of black cloth, for she was clothed in black from the top of her head, covered in a black veil, to those pointed black boots. _

_She wore the sumptuous, massive black gown of a gentlewoman or lady, and I knew by the big black horses and coach, coachmen and gown, that this was a very rich women. And rich women never came to our part of the country. _

_I felt a violent chill descend over my skin as she all but drifted over the broken sod, over the uneven ground that anyone would have had a difficult time walking over, as if she was as light as the angels themselves, her pretty, useless boots getting stuck in not a single rut. _

_I'd been walking the fields my whole life, but I still tripped over them like a gangly calf. _

_She floated across the ground like the devil himself.. _

_I could not see her eyes behind that heavy black veil. But I knew from the angle of her body, the way she curved across the earth, that she was not looking at me. _

_She had eyes only for Hope. _

_We didn't really have nobles, as you might call them now, in that area of Spain back then. _

_It was mostly very poor peasants, Irishmen trying to make their living by being a little more stubborn than the stubborn land itself. A lot of folk were heading over to America, even back then, and our own village had lost quite a few people to the lure of easier times in the golden land of opportunity. _

_As such, we were only used to being around fellow peasants, weren't used to being around anyone of higher rank than us, which is why Hope stood her ground as the woman drifted ever closer to her. _

_But there was something not quite right about the woman, and though I'd never been a superstitious person, I felt that there was more than a little something of the devil about this stranger. _

_So I stepped closer to Hope, tugged at her shirtsleeve. _

"_It's all right, Bell," she told me smoothly, her mouth in an insolent smile as she gazed at the stranger. "It's only a high and mighty lady come to see those who are beneath her." _

_The woman in her relentless approach of us paused. _

_And then, from beneath that black veil, came laughter. _

_High, piercing laughter that made my head ache, that sounded so sinister with its musicality and cruelty. It didn't sound human. _

_Hope, beside me, stiffened, but didn't remove her gaze from the approaching woman. _

_If possible, my friend's eyes flashed even brighter as she stared at this strange woman who floated across the rutted land toward us. Hope's stance was wide, her hands at her sides curled into tight fists. She was ready to fight if she had to. That was just Hope's way. _

_There had never been a single thing in the world that frightened her. _

_I wasn't exactly quaking in my boots, either. But there was fear in me as I stared at this stranger. _

"_Don't be afraid," the woman whispered, then, as if she could hear my very thoughts, and my knees grew weak at the sound of her words. _

_My legs quaked, but I tried to be as strong as I could as the woman finally stopped, close enough to reach out and touch the lace of her garment. Hope stood, leaning forward, her shoulders back, as she gazed at this woman with flashing eyes, defiance radiating from her. _

"_Who are you?" she demanded, and again, the woman laughed. I felt light-headed, as if I would fall against the sod, but I tried to stand firm. But the sound of the woman didn't affect Hope one bit. She stood and did not waver. _

"_In all of my many years," the woman whispered, the sound sibilant and hissing like a snake as she stepped closer, as she wrapped her long, gloved fingers around Hope's wrists, tugging her forward, "I have never met a girl I could not seduce with a single thought. There is something in you. Something special. I would have you come to me and be mine." _

_Hope and I had often thought about the sort of girl we would want to have if we could even dream of such a thing. _

_Hope had told me, often, about a dream she had about a blonde-headed girl. There were a lot of blonde-headed girls where we lived, so we really thought nothing of it. _

_But in all that Hope had ever told me, she'd never spoken of this type of woman being something she was attracted to, someone dark and sinister and otherworldly. And Hope held true to this._

_For she did not budge. The woman tugged on her wrists, but Hope stood where she was, feet planted firmly against the earth and shoulders back as her nostrils flared. _

"_I'm not going anywhere with you," she said with finality. _

"_You love women. Do not deny it," the stranger hissed as she tugged on Hope's wrists. "And here in this miserable little cesspool of a village, this loving women will get you killed. If you come with me, I will take you to a place where that's not even a consideration. Where you could be safe to be yourself. In my home, you can be anything you want to be." _

_Her words were dripping with charm, and they made sense to me. I wanted to go with this woman, even though I hadn't even been asked. I would have followed her into the depths of hell if she'd asked, as my earlier thoughts about her, my bad feelings about her, seemed to have evaporated. _

"_No," Hope persisted. _

"_Three times," whispered the woman, then, her voice darkening to a dangerous hiss. "Three times will I ask if you will come with me of your own free will. Three times will I ask, and only three, and if you do not say yes, I will simply take you." _

_Hope leaned forward then, leaned forward with such crackling energy, I took a step back. "You will never have me," was what she whispered. It was then that the coachman stepped forward with his whip and his strong hands. He dealt a blow to the back of my head, and I do not know what they did with Hope. But when I came to, we were in the coach with the strange woman. And I no longer felt as if she was there to help us. Or that she was lovely. _

_For the leather flaps had been rolled down over the coach windows, and in the darkness, she had removed her black lace veil. _

_She had long, unkempt brown hair that did not shine in the subdued light but seemed to swallow any light that came near to her, and there was dried blood around her small, wrinkled mouth. _

_And when she stared at me with her dark brown eyes that seemed to flash with raw power, I felt a shudder go through me. _

_Hope though, beside me, was unafraid. "Return us now," she growled._

_The woman tilted back her head and laughed and laughed, a snarl at the end of ever chuckle. "Why should I return you?" she told us. "There is not a soul who will miss you, not a soul you have left behind that would not jump at the idea of having one less mouth to feed. Now you both belong to me." _

_She leaned forward then, and she smiled. Her teeth that had been such perfectly normal, human teeth before, seemed to…grow, even as we watched, the old ivory color against her blood-red tongue lengthening, sharpening. _

_And her incisors became as deadly and as sharp as a wolf's as she licked her lips and stared at us with evil, triumphant eyes. We sat across from her in the coach, and she crossed that space between us in a heartbeat, as quick as death. _

_In another heartbeat and without me even seeing the movement, she had her arms around Hope's shoulders, hanging there, but it was not the passionate embrace of a lover. It was the sort of embrace an insolent cat does to a half-dead mouse right before it's about to devour it. _

_She snapped back her head, and in the dull light of the coach, I saw her wet teeth flash as she opened her mouth wide and darted forward. _

_She sunk her teeth into Hope's neck, even as Hope kicked and screamed, even as Hope fought as furious as she-devil. _

_I fought, too, but two girls against one monstrous woman was no match. She bit us, and we bled, and she drank until there was nothing left to drink._

_She drained us dry. We were meant to die. She drained us on the way back to her castle like a light afternoon snack, and her evil coachman dumped our bodies down into the depths of her cellar when she returned, kicking out our corpses into a shaft that led down to the lowest cellar, which might be more appropriately dubbed her dungeon. _

_So we fell there, but we were not alone, for our bodies collapsed beside the other, rotting corpses of the woman's gluttony, all young girls she'd lured with different stories, all young girls killed in the prime of her youth so that she could be satiated and satisfied and drunk from the blood of the innocent. _

_So we fell among the dead girls after we'd been drained dry, and we should have died. So we did. _

_During the fight in the carriage, we had bit and scratched and kicked and punched, and a little bit of the woman's blood had spattered against our mouths and the ragged wounds in our necks that she'd inflicted with her teeth. _

_Now, vampire blood is very strong. The cells seek a body like hunters themselves, for they crave to be inside a creature. _

_We were drained dry, not a single drop of human blood remained with in. But a few drops of vampire blood had gotten inside of us. _

_A few drops of vampire blood alone is not enough to save a human being or turn them from human into vampire. _

_It needs to be a great amount of blood given from a vampire into a human in order to turn that human into a vampire. _

_But sometimes, when people are very, very strong or the will to live and fight again is raging through them, there is the slimmest of chances that a few drops of blood is enough to begin the change. _

_When Hope and I woke a few days later, in the dark and the stench of that terrible, rotting cellar, we did not know what we were. _

_We were hungry, I remember that. _

_We were starving, and we were weak, but we were not really afraid. Not even when the pitiful bits of sunlight we could get fell down on us from a grate far above, and we saw that we were surrounded by the bones and bodies of countless dead girls. _

_That these bodies, in fact, were all that the cellar contained. That is when we knew who had taken us. For years and years, the local villages had a bogeyman story that few adults believed, but what was always whispered to the children—especially the girls. _

_For there were rumors that a gentlewoman named Cora was stealing away girls from surrounding villages. There were rumors of what happened at her castle, rumors that she was using the blood of these innocents to bathe in, that she was eating their flesh as a cannibal. _

_So mothers and fathers would tell their daughters to be good, or Cora would get them. _

_We'd heard the stories ourselves, growing up, but had never, ever believed they could be true. _

_But we knew the truth of it now. Cora was a vampire._

_And she had drained us dry because she wished to kill us, to drink us up and satiate her desperate lust for blood. And that meant, since we had died and come back to ourselves with this raging hunger in our bellies, that we had become the damned, too. _

_Hope and I were now vampires. _

_I wanted to leave that place. We knew what we were when we trembled and stumbled into the light, up and out of that cursed dungeon, alongside the crumbling stone walls of the castle, when the sunlight burned us as we stayed in it, burned us gently, but burned us nonetheless. _

_When a deer crashed through the underbrush, and our incisors lengthened, we knew, truly, what we had become, then. Vampires. _

_We followed and felled that deer and drained it dry, the two of us ripping into its warm muscles with sharp teeth, lapping at the blood like newborn kittens, unsure of how to drink. _

_And then, full, I stood shaking and told Hope: I wanted to leave. I asked Hope for us both to go, for us both to run away, far away, where our parents would never see what monstrous creatures we'd become, where we might be able to start again, hidden from the world who would never understand us. _

_But Hope stood there, in the woods, blood dripping down her chin, her piercing brown eyes wide and wild._

"_We can not leave," she whispered, rubbing the back of her hand over her mouth and smearing the blood. She was shaking, but not with fear. She was shaking with rage. "We can not leave until we stop her. She will not do this again to another girl," said Hope, then. "We will stop her." _

_Oh, how Hope was angry. Her life had been taken from her, her future, every possibility of happiness in the life we'd known and expected to have. We did not know at the time how much the world would change, but we did not know, at the time, what would become of us. _

_We thought we had become damned. Cursed. That our very souls had been given to the devil in exchange for tormented immortal life. For all we knew were the stories of vampires, and we did not yet know the truth of the matter. In all of this, we knew nothing. _

_But Hope knew that we must stop Cora. So we went back into the dungeon, finding our way up through broken staircases and cracked doors as we rose ever higher into the castle itself, and we sought out the evil woman who had done this to us. _

_And we found her, about to kill another girl. _

_The vampire Cora sat in one of the tall, crumbling towers that once must have been beautiful, back when this castle had been full of lords and ladies who ruled this area. Perhaps Cora had even seen that time, for she sat before a long table in a massive dining hall as if she'd lived here her whole life, as if she was still the lady of this place. _

_Her big black skirts billowed around her as she leaned back, gazing at the long table before her with narrowed eyes and a wickedly smiling mouth. _

_She was the only one seated at that table, and tied to the table's surface as if she was the main course (and indeed, she was) lay a beautiful young girl, stripped of almost all of her garments save for the chemise that had been pushed down her shoulders. _

_This young thing had long, blonde hair and such a pretty face, but it was contorted in horror as she screamed and screamed. _

_But these were not cries for help. They were the desperate strains of fear, because this poor thing knew how far Cora's castle was away from any village or people, and she knew there was no one to hear her or save her. _

_No one but us. _

_Cora had not been expecting us, and her coachman—her only servant—was down feeding the coach horses and bedding them down for the evening. _

_So when we entered the room, bold as you please through the wide archway to the hall beyond and Cora rose, standing slowly and turning her body to us, her bright brown eyes growing icy and wide and angry, she knew she was caught. And that she was at an end. _

_Hope was strong, and Hope was angry as she strode forward so quickly, I almost didn't see her move. _

_It was Hope who killed Cora. It was savage and ghoulish, but how else do you kill a vampire other than removing its head? _

_But when Hope was done, blood covering the front of her, her hands dripping as she held the gory head before her, the girl who had been tied to the table began to scream again. _

"_No, no, it's all right—you're safe," said Hope gently, and with a flick of her hands she'd cut through the ropes and untied them from the girl's body, but the girl leapt off the table and backed up against the far wall, shaking as she gazed at the two of us. _

"_You're monsters," the girl whispered. And then, over and over again like a mantra: "Please don't hurt me." _

"_We won't," Hope promised her, but the girl was sobbing, was repeating the word "monsters" over and over again, then. She turned, and she fled past us out into the hallway. Hope dropped the vampire's head in disgust on the floor where it rolled to a standstill away from us. _

_She knelt there, then, in the warm blood that pooled upon the stone floor, and with her face in her hands, Hope began to weep. _

_I tried to console her. I tried to tell her that we were not the monstrous ones. That we had saved this girl's life, and the girl was upset, had just experienced a nightmare world that she could never understand. But there was something of truth in the girl's words, something that we both had to acknowledge._

_We had become irrevocably changed. We were no longer human. We were vampire. And there was something in us that had made destroying Cora so very easy. _

_There was something of Cora in us, whether we wanted to admit it or not. _

_Hope decided to change her name to Regina. Not wanting any connection to the weak creature that she had been before._

_We took from the vampire's storehouse some money, some jewels, and we fled that land. _

_We left Spain, sailed on to England, and we changed our lives irrevocably, as they had been changed for us. _

_And we stayed together, Regina and I. _

_And we vowed that though there was something monstrous in us, never again would it rise and consume us. _

_We would never become like Cora…_

Bell tilts her head as she gazes at me, as her eyes lost the soft focus of the past and sees me clearly again.

"Though our past is steeped in blood, we have stayed true to that decision for our entire lives. Regina and I traveled the world together gathering women to us who were like us—that we would never become like Cora. We knew that we would never again hide the most essential part of our natures. We would love women and there would be no shame in that, not like there was shame of being a vampire," said Bell with a sigh.

"And, over time, we lost our shame of that, too. We know that we are not damned. We hurt no other creatures. We do not take what is not freely given," she murmurs.

"And eventually, Regina found Danielle. And I am, perhaps," she says with a small smile, "still waiting for the woman who is right for me. And I think I shall find her. Someday." She bites her lip, clearing her throat. "But the love Regina and Danielle had for each other…it is not what is reflected in what I see between Regina and Danielle now. There is something rotten in the state of Denmark, my dear Emma," she whispers.

I think about the story as I sink back in the plush chair, as I set my empty tea mug beside me on the little table. I think of how strong Bell and Regina must have been to survive an ordeal like that. But it doesn't surprise me, this story of their strength.

Regina had always struck me as a fighter. It's unfair the feelings that Bell's tale had invoked in me.

I feel, deeply, that I want Regina to fight for me now.

But, really, fight against…what? Danielle? Danielle was her soul mate. Why would Regina ever chose me over a woman she had professed once was her soul mate?

Bell still watches me with appraising eyes that narrowed. "There was something between you, Emma. Between you and Regina," she whispers, then.

"My question to you is…what are you going to do about it?"

I stand slowly, shake my head, smooth out my shirt.

"Thank you so much for the tea, Bell. And for the story. I loved hearing it," I tell her sincerely.

"But I'm not going to do anything about…about Regina and me. There's nothing there anymore." I work my jaw and swallow, but I have to say it.

So I do.

"Danielle's back."

Bell stands, bowing her head to me. She looks as if she's going to say something else, but then she shakes her head sharply, folding her hands in front of her.

"If that's how you feel, Emma," she says simply.

It isn't how I felt.

But there is nothing else I can do.

I've told myself that so many times that I'm almost beginning to believe it.

But there is some small part in my heart that cries out against that.

If I'm being honest with myself, I would have to admit that if Regina can't fight for me, then I want, more than anything, to fight for her.

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**A/N:** Yay! Backstory! :)

Let me know what you thought!

**XoXo**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N:** **_****IMPORTANT****_ Hey guys! If you've already read chapter 18, I added another little section to the end, so make sure you go back to read that small part before moving onto this chapter! :) Enjoy!**

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"Did you hear?" whispers Clare when I come to stand beside her behind the front desk.

It's the next day, morning, and I'm well dressed in a navy-blue blouse and black slacks, ballet flats, my hair up in a wavy ponytail.

I don't know exactly who I intend to impress anymore—the woman I'm falling in love with, whom I can no longer have, or the rest of the vampires.

I guess that's a little uncharitable. It seems that most of them can't help that they're vampires. But I've gotten up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, so I'm feeling a little less than charitable.

Last night I'd been tortured with dream after dream of Regina, Regina in clothes I'd never seen her wear, antique clothes, her long brown hair done up in antique hair styles, as if we were in another time.

The dreams were full of Regina kissing me passionately, her cold mouth against mine as she drank me in. Regina had whispered in these dreams, over and over with her perfect smoky voice that she loved me.

So many different dreams and situations, but always the same thing.

A long, sweet, hot kiss.

And then: "I love you."

I am completely driving myself crazy.

"Did I hear what?" I ask Clare, trying out a smile.

It feels like a grimace, but it seems to make Clare happy, for she returns the smile and looks a little relieved.

She seems like a nice woman, my new coworker. I like her, even though I haven't spent that much time with her.

We're supposed to share a shift that day, so I think I'll get to know her a little better.

It's Monday, and the Conference is supposed to begin tonight. The Conference, I realize, that is supposedly the big meeting of vampires.

I doubt, though, that Clare's secret is telling me the Conference is full of vampires.

"Regina's ex-lover is back," she murmurs out of the corner of her mouth with wide eyes. "And supposedly, she's starting to help Regina run the hotel again."

"Oh, joy," I mutter with a long sigh.

I'm a pretty easy-going person, and I'd once prided myself with the fact that I could get along with almost anyone.

I can not, however, imagine getting along with Danielle.

Clare begins to prattle on about hotel gossip, about the Mills women and normally this would interest me immensely—the mysterious Mills women are captivating to me with their interesting stories and, of course, the unexpected fact that they are all vampires.

And it's not that I don't want to listen to Clare or contribute to the conversation, but my mind is in other places, and my eyes have strayed to the painting of Regina on the wall by the front desk.

I know it's Regina, now, the woman who lounges with the big, black cat—possibly a panther or a jaguar. And though the cat is impressive and big and beautiful, you aren't looking at the cat when you glance at the painting.

You're looking at the naked woman sitting regal and calm and utterly comfortable in her own power.

It's done tastefully, the woman's nudity, as classic art tended toward, with Regina in a classic pose, her back to the viewer, but as my eyes sweep over the taut curves and lines of her body, even painted by a master's deft stroke, and knowing it's only paint, it's still bewitching to me.

I haven't noticed that Clare has grown silent. I do notice, however, the elbow lightly jabbed into my stomach.

And then, as if summoned by my thoughts themselves, Regina is there, standing in front of the desk.

Clare elbows me again, and I straighten, smiling wanly at the beautiful vampire who leans against the front desk lazily, her palms pressed against the wood and her upper body leaning toward me with a sort of languid ease, as if her entire body isn't raw, incredible power.

I've not yet seen her power utilized, but it seems as if I already know what she's capable of.

I stare at her, at her dark eyes that seem to be gazing into the deepest, darkest parts of me.

We stay that way for a long moment, long enough that Clare shifts her weight uncomfortably and clears her throat.

"Clare, I'm sorry to interrupt you," says Regina smoothly, softly, an unlit cigarette suddenly in her long, tapered fingers. "But I need to borrow Emma just for a moment. Emma, if you don't mind."

She straightens, and puts the cigarette to her lips, drawing a lighter out of her pocket.

It's a little absurd to see such a mundane contraption in her beautiful hands that all I can do is stare for a long moment.

Then I straighten, too, and clear my throat.

"I'll be right back," I tell the open-mouthed Clare, and I walk woodenly around the edge of the front desk, falling beside Regina. And we leave through the front door, my heart racing.

We walk together like we'd been doing it all our lives, Regina's hands in her jacket pockets, her shoulders rounded and her head bent, me keeping pace like my body knows what to do, even when my heart doesn't.

The door shuts behind us quietly, and then it's just Regina and me on the porch between the red columns and the red stone of the Mills Hotel itself.

I realize I'm disappointed with how beautiful the day is—I want it to be atmospheric, to be night with all its stars overhead, swinging bright and full of possibility in the sky again.

But it's only morning, and the sun is out, almost hot and shining as already-fallen leaves skittered across the full gravel parking lot, and the sea breeze rises up from the chill ocean, making me taste salt.

Regina remains in the shadow of the marble column, leaning back against it as she inhales deeply on her cigarette and lets the breath out into the air like smoke, her nose pointed to the sky.

"I told Danielle," she says, then, dropping her gaze and watching my face with her own inscrutable brown eyes as she flicks the ash off the end of the cigarette slowly.

She takes another long pull. The smoke curling out of her mouth as she murmurs, "about us."

I go cold.

"There is no 'us,' Regina," I whisper almost immediately, my first reaction.

It hurts to say it, and it twists the knife in my gut to see Regina's gaze darken, to see her clench her jaw, but it's the truth, isn't it?

There is no "us."

Only Danielle and Regina. I'd never gotten a chance.

"What did you tell her?" I whisper, wrapping my arms around my middle. Though the day was warm, I feel a cool chill descend over me as Regina straightens, as she steps forward toward me.

My body betrays me as it leans toward her, but she moves past me, taking another long pull on the cigarette before stubbing it out against the side of the closest marble planter and depositing it in the cigarette post on the side of the door.

She stands so close, I can reach out and press my fingers against her cheek, press my palm there, and she might turn, might if I'm lucky, and she would press her lips against my skin.

Slowly, as if we are in one of my dreams again, she takes a step forward, working her jaw, swallowing, wetting her lips as she searches for the words, her eyes pinning me into place.

My body shudders with surprise and delight even as her cold fingers curl over my hips, even as I close my eyes, breathing out in pleasure.

It's such a simple touch, but it's more than I'd ever expected again.

I shouldn't have expected anything. But here we are.

And the leaves dance across the parking lot as the low wind blows, and the scent of Regina swirls all around me, that bold note of lavender, the intoxicating spice of her.

I breathe her in as my heart aches, as every bit of me cries out for me to reach forward and touch her, too.

But then she speaks.

"I told her…" Regina's voice is low, gravelly, smoky as she struggles with the words, as the anguish spills out of her mouth.

I open my eyes, gazed up at her as she breathes out, as she searches my eyes, tightening her grip on my hips as if I'm the only thing that holds her to this place, as if I'm the only thing that anchors her to this world.

"I told her that I am drawn to you. That there is something about you that calls to me so strongly I can not ignore it." She gazes down at me with such violent longing that I almost moan as her fingers dig into me.

I want her, want her in ways I can't even understand.

She whispers, "I told her that, after all this time, I don't understand what has happened…but what was within Danielle that connected me to her. It's gone." Regina searches my eyes and takes a shaky breath, her own dark eyes wide and wet with tears.

She pushes away from me, then, and all I am instantly aches as she straightens, shaking with self control as she tugs down on the hem of her jacket, transforming almost instantly from the vulnerable Regina who'd gripped me tightly, her voice and her body filled with desire, who told me with that perfect, smoky voice that she was drawn to me…to the Regina who runs the Mills Hotel, strong and electric and completely without weakness.

But there the vulnerable pain remains in her, and I see it clearly when she gazes into my eyes, searching to the very heart of me.

"This isn't going to work," she whispers, shaking her head as she turns away from me, her profile outlined by the brilliant sun as she turns toward the door.

She brushes past me and for a brief moment, her fingers curl around mine and then are gone.

"I can't be around you. Not without…" She chokes on the words, straighten again, clearing her throat.

"I'm not good for you. Please go," she murmurs, her hand on the doorknob.

She pauses for a long moment, her back stiff beneath my gaze, the lovely slope of her shoulders pain-filled and tight, and then Regina opens the door and is through it.

I hadn't even realized that tears are leaking steadily out of my eyes.

I reach up and brush them angrily away. Not good for me? Couldn't I be the judge of that? She'd made the decision to be with Danielle—I'd been given no choice in this.

I follow her angrily.

There are so many words that want to tumble out of my mouth, so many feelings raging through me, but mostly what I want is to stand up on my tiptoes, wrap my arms around her shoulders and kiss her so deeply that we'd merge, the two of us together.

But when I enter into the front lobby, Regina is, of course, already gone.

As I stand in the entryway, as my hands curl and uncurl into fists, anger moves through me. And of course I'm angry. I have every right to be.

Regina had told Danielle about us? Why did she say, again, the words that pained me so much? That she is drawn to me.

She's made the choice to be with Danielle. She has chosen Danielle absolutely, and the pure and honest truth of the matter, the painful truth, is that she hadn't chosen me. And we both have to live with that decision.

Clare watches me with wide eyes as I all but stomp around the edge of the front desk, pushing up the sleeves of my blouse as I clear my throat, lift up my chin placed my hands flat on the surface of the front desk.

I stare at the front door and dare it to open with guests.

And, surprisingly, it does.

I hadn't even seen a car pull up when Regina and I were out there, but now on the front step, wheeling two taupe designer suitcases in behind them, are two women.

One has hair the same color as Regina's, but it's much longer, descending to curl beneath her hips, and a cruel, insolent smile on her beautifully made-up face. She wears a stylish blouse and pencil skirt ensemble that seems out of place with her long, unbound hair.

The other woman, like many of the people who had checked in, wears a plain black dress and a plain, black hat that reminds me of something women might have worn in the seventies on a beach. Her big, movie star dark sunglasses hide her eyes, but her face looks old, lined and wrinkled.

Her thin slash of a mouth is still covered in red lipstick, however. She reminds me of an aging starlet, clinging to something she'd lost long ago, but when she angles her face toward me, I take an involuntary step backward.

I can't see her eyes, but her face seems, somehow…hungry.

"Magdalena and Cindy," says the white-blonde woman, her lips curling up at the corners as she watches my reaction. Startled, I gaze back at her.

She's tapping the surface of the desk with an expensive looking manicure.

Clare gives me a glance, but she begins the necessary arrangements to find their reservations as I turn woodenly, stepping toward the back wall with its rows and rows of hooks and keys and fish two keys off the wall.

The blonde woman signs "Magdalena" with a flourish of the pen and then hands the pen to her companion as she puts her head to the side and smiles charmingly.

"Can someone help us with our luggage?" she asks, switching her little purse to her other arm and grinning a bit wider as Clare pales beside me. She might not know they are vampires, but I'm beginning to realize that you don't need to know someone is dangerous for your instincts to kick in and tell you that this certain someone is bad news.

"I can do that," I say quickly. I know they are vampires, and I don't happen to fear pretty much anything right now.

I step quickly around the front desk, and then I'm on the other side, grasping the smooth handles of their designer rolling luggage without even thinking.

"Please follow me, ladies," I tell them briskly, and then I'm pacing quickly ahead of them down the hallway of portraits.

I'd put them on the first floor, so at least I won't have to deal with the stairs while trying to tug the luggage behind me. I have no idea how the guests had gotten their luggage up to some of the higher floors without an elevator.

It's quaint not to have one, and lent to the atmosphere pretty handily…but it isn't exactly practical.

"Do I have this right—does the Conference begin this evening?" the blonde woman asks, pushing her own sunglasses up and onto the top of her head.

The other woman says nothing as we walk down the corridor. "Yes, you're right on schedule," I tell them, not because I know the fact myself, but because Clare had told me earlier.

"Wonderful!" the blonde woman, Magdalena, takes a slim phone out of her alligator handbag and presses its face, typing something into it.

The other woman, even though she's wearing sunglasses I can't exactly see through, seems to be staring at me.

I feel her gaze against me, and despite my earlier bravado, it's unnerving.

I press my shoulders back and walk as quickly as I can toward the far door next to the spiral staircase. It has an old "Exit" sign lit overhead, and when I push it open, holding it for the two women, the first floor room hall stretches on ahead of us, covered in a lush red carpet the exact same shade as drying blood.

I find their rooms, one thirteen and one fourteen, side by side.

"Keep the change," says Magdalena once I've gotten the bags inside each and ducked outside with forced politeness. She presses a crisp, unfolded hundred-dollar bill into my hand, and then closes the door in my face with a wide smile.

Huh, I think, staring down at my hand. Vampires are surprisingly good tippers. I could never have predicted that.

For a long moment I debate about folding the bill up and tucking it under my shirt and safely into my bra. But then I realize how close I am to the spiral stairs.

It'd be the work of only a few moments to trot up them, deposit the money in my room, and then return to the front desk to continue helping Clare.

My mind isn't really on the hundred-dollar bill—though it is nice—as I walk back down the hallway and begin to climb the steps.

I slow down, my hand gripping the railing, as my thoughts turn, as always, to Regina.

To Regina who'd leaned toward me as if she needed to be close to me.

To Regina who had invaded my constant dreams, to Regina who I wanted to be with more than anything.

I pause on a step before the spiral turns completely and my hallway would be in view.

If I close my eyes, which I do, and concentrate, I can almost imagine that I inhaled the scent of her.

The intoxicating blend of lavender and spice and vanilla, and the woody tang of her cigarette smoke.

I'm becoming pathetic.

No woman should have this much hold over another.

Why am I so drawn to her? Why do I love her?

It makes no sense!

None of it makes any sense… I breathe out brokenly and take the last few steps.

But as I round the last bend of the spiral staircase, I pause on the landing, gazing down the hallway to my room.

A woman kneels in front of my door. She has short black hair, wears overalls and a plaid shirt, and—with a screwdriver—is fiddling with the lock of my door.

But that's not what makes me pause.

Standing beside her, over her, as if supervising her actions with micromanaging precision, is a form I would be grateful to never see for the rest of my life.

With her hands on her hips and her toe tapping, Danielle stands tensely in her bright red dress, the scarlet fabric moving restlessly by her leg as she tapped her toe with aggravated, jerky motions.

Even though I haven't made a sound, Danielle straighten just then, and she turns to look down the hallway, her eyebrows rise as if she's surprised to see me at such an early hour.

But then that surprise fades almost immediately, and over her beautiful face a malicious glee begins to spread as wide as her wickedly grinning mouth.

"Ah, Emma," she all but purrs, crossing her arms in front of her chest as she chuckles a little.

"You have perfect timing." She straightens to her full height and angles her chin up, looking down her nose at me, as her words grow sharper.

"Your suitcases have been taken down to the front desk." Her final words are a knife in my heart, sharp and twisting.

"Your services at the Mills Hotel are no longer required."

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**A/N:** DUN..DUN..DUNNNN! lol Any ideas as to who's going to come to Emma's recuse? ;P

Let me know what you think, I love to hear all of your opinions!

I'll prob get one more update in tonight!

**XoXo - TheLoveOfApples**


	20. Chapter 20

I was beginning to realize that I'm having a very, very bad day.

I stare at the smug vampire for a long moment. Not that many creatures can pull off smugness as well as a vampire. And Danielle is the champion of them all.

Her full, red lips glisten as she grins, folding her arms over her ample chest, throwing back her head so that her rich, red mane spills out even more impressively over her shoulders.

The poor woman who'd been fiddling with my lock with her screwdriver glances up with a pained expression. She probably doesn't want to be in the middle of what might become a shouting match.

I think Danielle wants me to grovel. She wants me to beg to stay, to ask for more time, to ask her for favors. Maybe she expects me to explode with anger.

But I don't want Danielle to have the satisfaction of me losing my temper. I don't want her to see me reduced to anything. So I let out a long, quavering breath, draw myself up to my full height (which isn't really that impressive, but I like to think it's made a little more impressive by the waves of controlled rage that are emanating from me), and say with a strong, clear voice, "Does Regina know about this?"

A flicker passes over Danielle's face just then. It come and goes so quickly that I can't even be certain that I'd seen it or what, exactly, it was, but then her lips press into a firm line.

"Yes," she says, drawing out the word into a hiss. "She knows that you need to leave."

She straightens and glances over my shoulder, not meeting my eyes.

"Your suitcases have been packed and taken down to the front desk," she tells me firmly.

"And since your services are no longer required at the Mills Hotel, you need to leave." This last part sounds completely triumphant. My hands ball into fists.

Just like that, the decision had been made for me.

Again.

I was getting a little tired of having my life rearranged by vampires.

"All right," I say, taking a deep breath and trying to hold onto my anger as I consider my rapidly dwindling options, and I begin to deflate. My best friend Ruby had driven me here in her beat-up old van, Moochie—so I'm without transportation.

My cell phone was in my room and hadn't been charged in days because I didn't need it that often here.

Storybrooke doesn't have a taxi service that I know of, because it is—of course—a little town in the middle of nowhere.

I need to talk to Ruby, but I don't know where to find her. And I'm starting to look like a fool standing my ground where I'm not wanted.

"All right," I repeat, taking another deep breath.

I clear my throat and thrust my chin forward and up. I will not back down from this woman. Even if she is a vampire.

My mind works furiously, trying to figure out what I can do. I'd have to walk to town with my cell phone and charger. Go back to the coffee shop Ruby and I had found together. Get the phone charged, call her, ask her to use Moochie to drive me back to New Hampshire.

Or maybe I could get a bus ticket… Either way, it seems that I'm leaving Eternal Cove and all it represented: new life, new chances and choices.

And Regina.

And there is nothing I can do about it.

Anger seethes in my belly. No.

There has to be something I can do about it. I'm not going to go down without a fight.

This is my new life on the line, my chance at a fresh start. I won't let someone steal it away without giving me a choice.

Okay. First things first. "I need my cell phone," I say clearly, crossing my arms.

Danielle tosses my purse at me.

"It's all in there," she says with a sweet voice and a wicked smile. I turn on my heel. I walk quickly back down the steps, anger making my vision cloud red.

I don't know what to do, but I know I need to put some space between myself and the woman—the vampire—who is darkening the glimmer of a good life that has just begun.

I'm out in the parking lot before I really come to my senses.

I hadn't even had a chance to grab my coat.

It was probably already packed in my luggage that had been so unceremoniously hauled to the front desk. Luggage that one person could never possibly carry alone, as my entire life was in those suitcases—or what's left of it.

I sigh, rubbing my arms with chilled fingers as I gaze up at the blood-red maples, the brilliant blue sky with the roiling gray clouds on the edge of the horizon, billowing up along the line of the bright ocean. I can see my breath in front of me.

October in New England can be warm and glowing and a brand of gorgeous that can take your breath away—or it can be cold and harsh, a type of cold that warns you of the winter yet to come. The latter seems to be what I'm in store for today.

But I'm stubborn.

I glance at the Mills Hotel behind me and square my shoulders. The impressive red building sits there, silent and foreboding, without a trace of pity for my human predicament.

But I don't want pity.

I don't want Regina to know how pathetic I am, standing outside of the Hotel without a coat or any place to go, or—even if I had a place to go—transportation to get me there.

I'm not pathetic. I'm going to fix this.

No matter what.

I take another deep breath and watch it fog out in front of me. And then I hitch my purse up on my shoulder with numbing fingers, and I march over the gravel driveway, the little stones crunching beneath my flats, and onto the road just beyond the hedges.

The road that slopes down to Storybrooke.

The town isn't that far—a few easy, short miles, since it's all downhill. I can walk it, and I will have to. But as I begin my descent, the chill wind blowing, the cold making my anger turn to ice, I wonder if this is a bright idea

Let's be honest, I probably should have stayed at the hotel and asked if I could talk to Ruby. It's freezing out; I don't have my coat… At this point, I'm just being stubborn.

But I don't want Danielle providing me any "favors."

As I walk along, rubbing at my arms and shivering as the wind picks up in volume, I do my best not to feel sorry for myself.

I do my best not to think of Regina or the conversations Danielle must have had with her to reach the conclusion that my services are no longer required.

God, Regina probably already thinks I'm pathetic. She's probably very, very glad that Danielle has returned, that I've been sent away.

But then I take another deep breath and remember her cold fingers curling over my hips as her dark eyes devoured me, raking over me with a possessive tenderness that took my breath away.

Had it really only been hours before?

I stand still for a long moment, shaking. I close my eyes, feel the pavement beneath my flats, feel the wind dancing over my skin, and I remember Regina's low, husky whisper… _'A__fter all this time, I don't understand what has happened… But what was within Danielle that connected me to her... It's gone.' _

And then I open my eyes, staring up at the sky that's almost as dark as the vampire's eyes. And I remember another of her whispers to me… _'__I am drawn to you. There is something about you that calls to me so strongly I cannot ignore it_.'

How can I fix this? How can I set things right?

Danielle has returned, and with her return goes every chance I'd ever had with Regina, because everyone knows Danielle is Regina's soulmate. She is Regina's soulmate, or at least who Regina had professed to be her soulmate. That's the kind of stuff that can't be tampered with, two people so in love that they call each their soulmate.

In that sort of equation, there is no room for anyone else.

Okay. So at this point, I really am feeling sorry for myself. As my eyes began to cloud with tears, as I consider what I had just lost, I stand very still on the side of the road, holding my purse's strap with a white-knuckled hand, and holding my side with the other, trying to keep myself from sobbing as the chill wind begins to pick up.

And that's when the Mustang comes roaring over the hill. It's probably from the sixties; a type of cherry red they don't make cars in anymore, and I only know it's a Mustang because of the running horse on the front grill.

But it's a very pretty car, regardless of whether I know cars or not, with its sloping lines and chrome stripes and retro curves.

The convertible top is down—unusual on such a cold day—but when I see who's driving the car, I realize the cold probably doesn't bother her very much…since cold doesn't seem to bother vampires.

It's Elsa sitting at the wheel, her usually long, white-blonde hair blowing every which way in the wind her vehicle's passing is creating. She wears slick black sunglasses, and her white dress shirt is unbuttoned at the neck, the bright blue tie - that perfectly matches her eyes, I realize - flutters against that milk white skin like a beacon.

I never would have been able to notice all these details if she'd just roared right past me. But she doesn't.

She slows down her breakneck pace, and she pulls up alongside me, rolling to a complete stop.

She stares at me for a long moment through her jet-black sunglasses, her mouth—usually contorted into a sexy smirk—frowning, her full lips turning downward.

Elsa sits there, silent.

"I thought vampires didn't like the sunlight," I quip, which—considering my tear-filled eyes and the circumstances I now find myself in—takes a lot out of me to say.

Elsa glances up at me over the rims of her sunglasses, then, with one brow raised, her head to the side. She leans forward, her left elbow on the door of her car, her right hand lightly caressing the wheel, her long fingers resting against the leather there.

Elsa is beautiful in a way that engages my heart in that old cliché, she makes my heart skip a beat.

From the moment I met her, I'd been attracted to her in that effortless kind of way that pulls you across the room toward another woman, with an invisible tug that you're powerless against, like gravity.

She's magnetic, her sarcasm, her laughter that's at once carefree but also hard to find. Elsa smirks quite a bit and could crack a joke about anything, it seems. But she would never laugh at them.

"What are you doing out here?" she asks heavily, her bright blue eyes flashing.

Does she already know that Danielle has forced me to leave? Probably.

It seems that news traveled fast through the Hotel.

At least, among the vampires.

"I thought I'd get a breath of fresh air," I manage, but it comes out a bit choked, and then another tear leaks out of my eyes and runs a bright line down my cheek.

Elsa's jaw clenches, and she breathes out through her nose, her nostrils flaring as she stares over the edge of her sunglasses, watching the progression of the tear over my skin.

She rises in the car, opening the door, her hand gripping the edge of it, her knuckles white.

"Let me help you, Emma," she murmurs then, the words soft and low and soothing—hypnotic. My entire body leans toward her.

I swallow, trying to control my responses to that low, soothing, sultry voice.

"Look," I manage then, anger rising in my belly. I finger the strap of my purse, trying to clear my head.

"That's very…sweet…" I say, gesturing with my hand at the Mustang, at her, with one foot on the ground and one foot still in the car like a woman knight dismounting from her charger.

"But I'm not a damsel in distress," I tell her with a sad shake of my head. "I don't need to be rescued."

What I don't say, because I close my mouth in enough time, is that I don't want assistance from any more vampires.

They'd "helped" me quite enough.

"Emma," whispers Elsa then, rising completely, leaving the car door open behind her as she leans against the side of her Mustang, shrugging out of her sunglasses and peering up at the sun with a long sigh.

"You know I'm burning up out here. Maybe I'm the damsel," says Elsa, folding her sunglasses and putting them in her breast pocket of her immaculately white shirt.

She stares at me with such an intense gaze, then, that my heart rate skyrockets.

"Maybe I'm in distress," she murmurs, her lips twitching at the corners as she carefully controls her expression.

"Because of a little sunshine?" I ask, glancing upwards. "You're a vampire in the sun. You don't have to be out here," I reminded her gently.

"Maybe I want to be saved," she says, her lips twitching at the edges as she delivers the line with a smoky low tone that makes my toes curl in pleasure.

Damn her and her sultry voice.

I'm supposed to be making my way to a coffee shop and figuring out what I can possibly build out of the newly broken pieces of my life.

Instead, I'm standing on the side of a road next to a too-attractive vampire, leaning nonchalantly against a hot red Mustang.

I suppose that, as far as terrible afternoons go, mine is starting to look up.

"See, I want to help. And you're being stubborn," says Elsa, one brow up as her lips twitch at the corners again.

She suppresses the smile as she shrugs and folds her arms. "But I can be stubborn, too. Let me help you. Or you're going to be responsible for the serious burns I'll be sporting."

I consider her.

"How could you possibly help me?" I ask then, my voice low.

I hadn't intended for the words to spill out of my mouth, but then they're there, between us. Her joking manner is gone in a heartbeat as she leans forward, pushing off from the side of the car.

She's so close to me that I can feel the coolness of her body.

Vampires are much colder than normal human body temperature, I've learned, and as she takes a single step toward me, I can see, again, my breath coming out between us like smoke.

She's so different from Regina as she takes my elbow in her sure fingers, coaxing me forward.

But different from Regina is…good, right now.

I want to forget how Regina had held me, how Regina had touched me and kissed me. I want to forget the sound of her voice, because all of those memories, the very few that I have of her, are too painful.

But Elsa isn't like Regina at all.

She's a little taller, almost my height. Her body is different from Regina's, more muscular, a little more rakish and boy-like. Regina's long dark drown hair is nothing like Elsa's white-blonde.

I wonder what Elsa's hair would feel like in my fingers as the distance between she and me shortens dramatically.

Her hair, as shiny and bright as the sun, seems like it would be as soft and smooth as ice against my fingers.

Elsa is forward and strong and funny. She's reckless and a little dangerous, I think. She's mesmerizing.

Before I know it, Elsa is standing there—right there. Close enough to lean forward and kiss. Close enough that I can smell the scent of her perfume, something dark, a blend of cologne and organic scents that I can't quite place but that makes me think of a man's shirt collar, pressed smooth and straight and cool.

Her eyes are hard, bright, the blue such a captivating color that I'm held spellbound in her gaze as she clenches her jaw and searches my face.

Her nose turns up a little at the end, and her full lips are pursed into a frown.

They're wet, like she'd just licked them, and my heart begins to hammer in my ears.

I want to kiss her.

It's a strong and desperate urge that moves through me, but I stomp down on it—hard.

I'm not the type of person to fall for someone who offered me kindness. I'm just confused by everything that's just happened and upended my life. Confusion is something I can easily subvert, easily overcome.

I'm not going to kiss Elsa Mills when, hours before, Regina had held me in her arms.

Elsa watches my face impassively for a moment, and I think she's going to say something…but then whatever had risen in her is gone as she straightens, as she steps away.

"Come back with me to the hotel," she says gruffly, running a hand through her hair, which miraculously begins to smooth itself down after the ride in the convertible.

She holds up a hand before I can protest.

"You don't have anyplace to go tonight—am I right?" she asks reasonably, her head to the side. I breathe out, my hands curling into fists.

It's true, and she knew it, too.

"You can talk to Ruby, get something sorted out, make plans—but you can't do anything right now, and you need a place to go, and it's no skin off my back to give you that. It's the least I can do, really," says Elsa, shoving her hands into her dress pants pockets as she shrugs easily.

"Why?" I breathe out, my breath exhaling into the world like smoke again as I stand my ground, as I hold my purse's strap tightly, stand straighter. "Why do you want to help me?" I ask when she turns a little, one brow raised on that perfect face.

"Because," says Elsa softly, sighing, too. "You remind me of someone I used to know."

It's raw, the way she says those words. There isn't a syllable of sarcasm. But there is a lot of pain.

Elsa straightens the edge of her dress shirt, shrugging her shoulders, the pain rolling away from her as quickly as it'd come. I trot around the side of the car, opening the Mustang's heavy door as Elsa hops in the other side, slamming her door shut and revving the engine with a wicked grin on her face.

And we roars back up the hill, toward the Hotel. The gravel spinning out from beneath the wheels as we round the road's corner and Elsa all but rams the car between the hedgerows to get into the parking lot.

We skid to a halt, gravel spraying out in all directions as Elsa cuts the ignition and hops out of the car without opening the door.

She smoothly strolls around to the passenger side and opens my door with a low bow and a wide, wry grin.

"Welcome back," she says dryly, straightening as I stand up, glancing back up at the building that looms overhead, staring down at me impassively with its impressive red stone and never-ending array of windows.

Behind us, a few more cars are pulling into the almost-full parking lot, too.

In all of the "excitement," I'd forgotten that tonight marks the beginning of the Conference. I don't know that much about it yet, other than the fact that many of the world's vampires gather together in one place every year to discuss business, meet and socialize. Every year, a different spot is chosen for the Conference.

And this year, that spot would be the Mills Hotel.

As I lean against the side of the Mustang, the newly arrived expensive car has its doors opened, and a few people emerge.

One black woman, tall and as regal as her much-too-pale male companion. The way they hold themselves, in the slightly old-fashioned dress (the woman wore a very cute retro-looking dress that is red with polka dots, and the man looks like he's headed to a costume party as a blonde Dracula), they appear to me like I'd always imagined vampires would look.

Out of the other expensive car erupts two children who glances about themselves with feral eyes—a very blonde boy and girl, probably eight years old, wearing jeans and t-shirts and no coats or shoes, even though it's very cold out. A woman rises out of the car after them, possibly their mother.

She looks related, at least, with the same feral sheen to her eyes as she watches them running around in the parking lot. She wears jeans, too, and she barks at the kids to follow her.

Maybe it's their eyes or the way they look at me as they ran past me—like they'd missed lunch, and I might make a very tasty snack—but I realize right away that the kids are probably not human.

"Vampire…children?" I manage, glancing sidelong at Elsa, who smiles widely, shoving her hands into her pockets as she rolls her shoulders back.

"Why not?" she asks me, cocking her head as she glances after the kids.

"Those two, though—they're the stuff of nightmares. Timmy and Tammy. Stay away from them. They're pretty bloodthirsty and…have gotten into a little bit of trouble because of it, at past Conferences."

I watch the savage children scamper up the few steps, through the blood-red columns and into the hotel itself, the massive doors opening and shutting behind them as Elsa clears her throat, standing a little straighter as she glances up at the dark shadows along the edge of the horizon, a big cloud bank that looks dark and gray and threatening as it starts to drift closer to us, beginning to block out the bright blue sky.

"It's going to storm soon," she remarks mildly. But a shiver runs through me, nonetheless. Her words seem like a particularly poignant omen. Not only of what is to come here, but also of my life, in general.

Another car pulls in—the parking lot is starting to get busier and busier. This one is a smaller European car, all bold lines with a bright lime-green exterior.

The woman who steps out of it had heels that would probably have killed a normal mortal woman on the gravel ground, and a bright pink skirt so short that I can't help but stare at her legs.

Long, wavy blonde hair reaches down to the middle of her back, and she glances over the tops of her sunglasses in our direction before taking them off, a wide grin making her full, red lips curl up very prettily at the corners.

"Elsa!" she calls, and her voice is so warm, her expression so bright and kind, that I can't help but like her almost immediately.

She trots across the rest of the parking lot toward us as Elsa returns her grin, stepping forward to embrace her tightly. Elsa squeezes so forcefully that she almost picks the stranger up off the ground.

"Francesca, how long has it been?" asks Elsa, one of the first looks of real pleasure I'd ever seen on her face deepening as she steps back and holds the laughing woman at arm's length.

Elsa looks genuinely glad to be in this stranger's company.

"Oh, about fifty years, give or take?" the blonde laughs, raising one brow imperiously as she shoves her sunglasses into the little teal clutch dangling at her wrist.

She smooth's the lapel of her bright blue jacket, turning to look at me with another warm smile.

She's more beautiful than a model, but she's so down to earth, too, as she holds out a perfectly manicured hand to me—nails colored the same teal as her clutch. "I'm Francesca Muldoon, but everyone close to me calls me Frank," she winks impishly and glances at Elsa with one brow raised.

"Are you a…friend…of Elsa's?" The way she says "friend" could really have implied only one thing. I turn bright red and shake my head—a little too quickly, as Elsa frowns and clears her throat.

"No… Emma was hired on as an employee of the hotel," says Elsa smoothly. "She's just a friend."

"It's hard for you to have 'just' friends, Elsa. If I recall correctly," says Frank, drawing herself up to her full height, which her desperately tall heels only emphasized.

"Well, it's been a long time," says Elsa, and they aren't sharp, those words. They're almost sad and small.

"Anyway," says Elsa with a shrug, her smile returning as she takes Frank's elbow with sure fingers. "We have a lot of catching up to do, don't we?"

"It'll be like old times. I'm really glad I came to this Conference after missing so many of the others. I've missed you," says Frank with a warm smile.

"And it'll be nice to get to know you, Emma," says Frank, as she turns to wink at me. I begin to smile, too.

And that's when another car pulls into the parking lot. Cars kept coming. It wasn't unusual that one chose that heartbeat to pull in.

But there's something about it.

My skin shivers as the shiny black thing—a sports car of some kind with all sorts of chrome—pulls into a spot right next to Elsa's Mustang.

The ignition shuts off, the car door swings open as if shoved, and impressively tall high heels and curving feet came out first.

And Mal rises up and out of the car.

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**A/N:** And in races Elsa to the rescue! :)

I love to hear what you guys think is going to happen next or what you think so far!

**XoXo - TheLoveOfApples**


	21. Chapter 21

**_A/N:_ Sorry for the wait guys! Life kind of grabbed a hold of me for a few days. Enjoy!**

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She doesn't take off her sunglasses, but I can tell instantly the expression of loathing that passes over her face as she stares at me.

Really, what had I ever done to her to make her hate me so much? Hate me enough, in fact, to try to drink me dry?

Mal says not a word as she shuts the car door with her hip, making the close-fitting dress wiggle impressively as she shimmies over the ground to stand next to Elsa.

Ignoring Francesca and me entirely, Mal puts her arms around Elsa's neck. And she curls her fingers with their bright red tips into Elsa's hair, something only a lover would dare, and draws Elsa forward for a hard, harsh kiss.

Francesca glances down at her purse, her mouth in a thin, hard line, as I feel the heat rise into my cheeks.

Mal backs away from Elsa after a long moment, her perfect lipstick smudged onto the side of Elsa's mouth. Elsa's eyes are like stones as she glances at Mal, as she carefully takes a handkerchief out of her dress pants pocket and wipes at the smudged lipstick on her pale skin.

"Aren't you back a little early?" is what Elsa says to Mal then, tiredly.

Mal had been sent away from the Mills Hotel for a week in "punishment"—because of the fact that she tried to kill me.

A fact that I was acutely aware of as Mal turns to me, glances at me, both brows lifted up imperiously over her sunglasses, before she turns back to Elsa, shaking her head.

"I've done my time," she says, snarling over that last word. "And for what? I heard she's leaving, after all."

Mal glances at me as if I were a stain on one of her very impressive gowns.

"Elsa, baby, we have a lot to catch up on," she says, her voice practically purring as she threads her arm snake-like through Elsa's. "Let's go somewhere…" she says, stepping forward so that the front of her body presses tightly against Elsa's, her round, full breasts shoved forcefully against Elsa's own.

"Let's go somewhere where we can be alone," she breathes.

"I'll see you later, Elsa," says Francesca, her words soft as she takes a step backward.

"No," says Elsa resolutely, taking a step backward, too—moving away from Mal.

"We have a lot of catching up to do, Frank…and we have things to discuss, Emma. Mal, I can't talk right now," she murmurs, her voice dropping soft and low as she glances at the sultry woman with something akin to regret.

If Mal is offended at Elsa's dismissal, she doesn't show it. Her head moves dangerously to the side, like a bird of prey getting ready to size up a kill, and then she straightens, her mouth forming a slow, sensuous smile.

"Maybe later," she murmurs, her bright pink tongue licking her lips languorously before she turns on her heel, her hips moving hypnotically beneath the skirt of her dress, causing all of our eyes to watch her until she'd gone up the few steps and onto the front veranda of the Mills Hotel, and then through the front door, disappearing from view.

"Well, Mal certainly hasn't changed much," Frank remarks wryly, shaking her head and clicking her clutch shut as she rolls her eyes a little, shaking her head.

"You'd be surprised," Elsa mutters, glancing sidelong at me. "She tried to drain Emma."

"Like I said," Frank mutters, thumbing the pack of cigarettes she'd dredged out of her clutch. She shakes out one and holds it easily, unlit between her first two fingers.

Far out over the sea, a flicker of lightning touches down into the water, so distant that it looks like static electricity. It's followed by a very distant roll of thunder.

"Let's get inside," Elsa remarks, gesturing forward. She hops back into her car for a moment, starting the engine and making the convertible's top roll up. The first big, fat drops of rain splatter against her windshield as Frank and I trot toward the front door of the Hotel, Elsa on our heels. We get underneath the veranda's roof just as the sky opens up.

"Perfect weather for a Conference," Frank murmurs happily as we watch the rain pound against the gravel parking lot. There are a few more headlights pulling into the lot, and a few more vampires running for cover and the front door.

The rain is so cold, and as I stare out at the parking lot, at the men and women with umbrellas or coats over their heads, moving past us and through the front door, which keeps opening and shutting, making the laughing talk inside muted or loud as it opens and closes, I realized that I would probably still have been on the road to town with the heavens pouring rain upon me if Elsa hadn't come and brought me back here.

I probably would have caught my death of cold. At the very least, I would have been freezing and alone and miserable.

I chance a sidelong glance at Elsa, who has her arms folded, her legs hip-width apart, and her nose up as she stares out at the rainstorm. If she has similar thoughts to mine—that maybe she really was my lady knight in shining armor—she doesn't voice them, or make any expressions to suggest as much.

Elsa is very beautiful in that eerie half-light of the thunderstorm, with her proud face pointed up at the heavens and her unreadable expression, as if her mind were a million miles away. But she turns then, catching the door as another vampire woman strides through it, and she holds the door for both Francesca and me as we enter the hotel together.

Since it's starting to get dark, all of the ornate, art-deco wall lamps are on inside, their brass fixtures shining warmly in the low light. To combat the creeping darkness in the wide hallway, all of the art lamps above the paintings in the main hall of the hotel have been turned on.

The sumptuous blood-red and black marble floor tiles are wet in spots from the rain that drips from the guests, as the vampires remove their coats and begin to mill about in—what I realize—is a beginning reception of sorts.

Old oaken tables have been set up along the wall, beneath the paintings, and on top of the antique lace tablecloths, there are many pretty wine stems and liquor glasses lined up—as well as many, many, many multicolored bottles of booze.

It almost looks like a normal, fancy reception. Save for one thing. There isn't a bite to eat.

I mean, it is a meeting of vampires; the fact that there is no food really isn't that surprising. I am surprised a little, though, that they drank liquor. I glance at the front desk, at my coworker—or, rather, I supposed…my ex-coworker—Clare, perched on a stool behind the desk. She doesn't exactly look afraid, but there is something odd about her body language, her hands folded, knuckles white, on her lap, her blue tartan skirt tucked tightly beneath her, as if she's cold, as she stares at the vampires milling in front of her with wide eyes.

I wonder if the main course isn't visible because it isn't something you can put on a table. I wonder if it is, rather, someone.

It's a chilling thought, a thought I've been trying to ignore, considering the fact that vampires from all over the world are congregating before my very eyes. Vampires who, by their very nature, crave human blood.

The only thing that makes me feel a little safe is the fact that Regina or one of the other Mills' had mentioned that they ignored the more bloodthirsty aspects of vampirism as a group.

However, the same could not necessarily be said for the rest of the vampires here, and I have a feeling that the Mills' are likely a rarity among vampires. I mean…it is the thing vampires were known for, isn't it? Drinking blood?

At this point, I haven't learned that much about vampires. I know that they lived a long time and are incredibly strong and magnetic. I know that they crave human blood but can live without it if they chose to do so. I know that they probably don't sleep in coffins but that sunlight burns them badly over time. I know little else.

But as I stare at this group of beautiful creatures milling about, drinking champagne out of thin, expensive glasses with blood-red lips and laughing with lovely voices in the hallway as the rain pours down outside, I know that, as a human being, I've willingly walked into a proverbial lions' den.

Mal, chuckling with a tall, red-headed man in a dark suit over flutes of champagne, turns to glance over her shoulder at me just then. Her wicked, terrifying smile includes sharp, glittering fangs. If she is trying to frighten me…she's done a pretty good job of it. But I am more stubborn than that. Right now, I don't have anyplace to go.

And if I've learned anything about Regina, it's this: We were safe in the Mills Hotel. No matter who stayed here.

Mal had attacked me in the water, down on the beach. And even then, somehow, impossibly, Regina had saved my life. Somehow, she'd known I was in distress. I'm not certain of the rules and restraints of the vampires' Conference, but I am almost certain that Regina has put something in place to protect the humans in her care.

As if my thoughts themselves had summoned her, there she is then, across the room. Her long, dark brown hair is swept back from her face and falls like a cascade of satin over her shoulders, and she wears a shirt in the most appropriate shade of red for a vampire.

It has a surprisingly plunging neckline, and the bare skin above her breasts is covered in dripping black gems fashioned in an elaborate, decadent necklace. There is a tall black collar on her black jacket, and if my eyes aren't mistaken in the dim lighting, she's also wearing leather pants that seem to have been made perfectly for her body, like a second skin, with a pair of tight-fitting leather boots with thick black heels.

I reach out to steady myself with a hand against the corner of the wall. Not because she's beautiful in a way that makes my knees weak—though she is—but because, in the space between us, a…line seems to pulse.

It's the best way I can describe it.

It's as if a glowing thread is tied around my heart, stretching across the distance between us, and is tugging at Regina's heart, too.

I know without a shadow of a doubt in that moment that we are inextricably linked. Connected, utterly.

If Regina feels that connection, that bright pull from that invisible thread, I can't tell…because it isn't me that her violently dark eyes find.

Regina's eyes find Mal and pin the woman beneath her gaze. Mal stops speaking to her male companion.

Across the crowded room, she lifts her champagne flute to Regina in a mocking sort of toast and drains the contents dry in a single swallow. She keeps her eyes trained on Regina's as Regina stalks her way across the room, threading herself between the assembled vampires—or maybe they part for her so that she can move easily and quickly across the crowded room—to reach Mal.

I can't hear what the two women say to one another as Regina inclines her head toward Mal, as they step so close to one another, it look like a fight is about to begin, their stares so hard and intense—nose to nose.

Both Regina's and Mal's eyes are flashing as Regina turns, indicating the corridor with a quick hand. Mal doesn't look at Regina as she sails past her, nose up, fangs bared in a snarl.

And Regina and Mal leave the room together, speaking heatedly and quietly as they both stalk down the corridor.

Is Regina talking to Mal about…me?

Maybe it's absurd to think that I mattered so much to Regina, after all, hadn't I been discharged from the Mills Hotel without any interference from her?

But there had been something in the clenching of Regina's jaw, and the dangerous glittering of Mal's eyes… I thought that, yes, maybe they are talking about the incident that had garnered Mal's "punishment."

Though I did not—and still don't—think leaving the Mills Hotel for a week was an appropriate sentence for attempted murder. Maybe vampires simply think about things differently, I muse as I stand there, one hand still against the wall, the other over my heart to quell its incessant beating.

How much did one human life count to a being that considered us…dessert?

But that's unfair. Regina had never thought of me that way, I know. Though I wonder, then, if what I've felt between us has really been that special, after all. I'm trying to heal the hurt in my heart. I know better. But I'm trying to convince myself otherwise.

But how else could I explain that pulsing connection between Regina and me that I had just felt? Honestly, I've never felt anything like it before in my entire life. It's otherworldly, that tug that had compelled me to lean toward her amidst the crowd.

It's nothing that I can explain—but it had been there, all the same.

Across the room, I see Danielle. Her bright red hair is unbound and hangs down around her shoulders in waves. She's wearing a red dress with a plunging neckline—so plunging, in fact, that the neckline itself ends somewhere around her navel, her breasts hardly concealed by scallops of red fabric.

She's laughing at something a dark-haired woman is saying, the woman bending her head to speak into Danielle's ear. And as Danielle lifts up her gaze, ready to retort something to her companion…she spots me.

She looks surprised and genuinely confused for a heartbeat. And then unmistakable rage passes over her face, contorting her pretty mouth into a snarl before she turns away, lowering her voice and speaking again to her companion.

This wasn't a good idea.

I don't want a scene; I don't want to be made a fool of in front of all these people. I probably shouldn't have come back to the hotel, but Elsa had been convincing, and…I have no place else to go.

Elsa is at my elbow, then, her sure, strong fingers gripping me gently, curling over my skin.

"Let's go up to my rooms," she says in a low voice, her lips close enough to my ear that I feel them brush against my skin. I shiver at that unexpected touch. But there is a thin sliver of delight that races through me, too.

I turn to glance up at Elsa. Having just seen Regina, having just felt that bright thread of connection pulsing between us…I know that I don't have that same sensation with Elsa.

Between Regina and me ran an electric thread. It was something extraordinary. But there is a deep attraction between Elsa Mills and me, and there is absolutely no denying that fact.

Still, it doesn't matter. None of this matters. Because now that we are back at the hotel, I can find Ruby, and she and I can figure out how to get me back to New Hampshire. Where I'll start my life fresh, free of a strange, glittering, beautiful life full of vampires.

"What about your friend?" I ask, nodding in the direction of Francesca, head bent to a beautiful female vampire with jet black, straight hair who is whispering into her ear. They look intimately acquainted, the way this vampire lays a hand on Francesca's pink-clad hip.

"There's time enough for that—and anyway, she looks…occupied," says Elsa with a shake of her head. Then, with her fingers still wrapped strong and gentle around my arm, we walk down the corridor, in the opposite direction that Regina and Mal had taken.

"I need to speak with Ruby," I tell Elsa once we've reached the bottom of the spiral staircase; we'd gotten here, walking the entire five minutes, in silence. We pause next to the first wide step of the staircase, and I gaze up at Elsa's face. She has a carefully schooled expression of neutrality as she shrugs.

"I don't know where Ruby is right now. Why don't you call her?"

I blush, biting my lip. "My cell phone is dead," I tell her.

"You can charge it in my room—and you must be hungry," Elsa notes, her head to the side. "I can get food for you, bring it up to you. I don't want Danielle to see you," she murmurs, stepping closer.

"It's too late for that," I murmur back, glancing over Elsa's shoulder at the empty corridor behind us.

I shiver a little beneath her intense gaze, her icy blue eyes flashing. "Danielle already saw me—at the reception."

"Well," says Elsa, working her jaw as she glanced up at the staircase. "Let's get to my rooms. Just…in case."

"In case of what?" I ask, another shiver moving over my skin.

Elsa pauses, her foot on the first step, her fingers still wrapped around my arm.

She lets me go.

"Danielle isn't really…how she used to be," she says, shaking her head, not meeting my gaze.

"She's not how she was when I knew her. Before. She's…very different." The words sound so forlorn, so remorseful.

I pause for a long moment, watching Elsa climb the steps.

"You knew Danielle before she…died?" I ask her, then. My words sound strange to my ears as I begin to climb after her.

"We all did," Elsa answers, walking slowly up the steps, her long fingers trailing on the railing.

"Some…better than others." Now her words sound bitter.

I try to put the pieces together. Elsa's shoulders are rigid, and she hasn't been sarcastic once since we'd entered the building.

"Did you see Regina—" I begin, but Elsa rounds on me, glaring down at me for a long moment with a shake of her head.

"I saw Regina with Danielle," she whispers, the words low and growling. "Together."

For a long moment, I stand very still.

And then it dawns on me.

"Were you in love with Danielle?" I ask.

Elsa pauses on the steps, her back to me. Her shoulders relax.

"Yes," she says simply.


	22. Chapter 22

I catch up with her on the wide staircase, and we both share the same step, somewhere between the second and third landing. Elsa casts a sidelong glance my way, and her eyes are shining in the half-light. Bright with tears, I realize, as she shakes her head, breathes out, biting her lower lip and glancing up at the landing.

"I loved her very much," she says then, her words soft and vulnerable—so unlike the wry, assured Elsa I'd experienced in the short time I'd known her.

She sighs, not wiping the tear away as they leak out of her right eye, tracing a line down her face. She stands straighter.

We climb the rest of the steps, and Elsa takes her landing with a long stride, her hands deep in her pants pockets.

"It's not as it was some sweeping love story," Elsa chokes out, rolling her wet eyes.

"I didn't have a chance with Danielle," she says over her shoulder, her mouth twisting into a grimace.

"Regina and Danielle… That was a connection that nothing could break. I didn't have a chance, but sometimes you love people you know you can't be with, because you're just powerless against it. That's how it was with Danielle and me. I was powerless against it. Against her. I loved her, and I couldn't stop loving her."

It is a poignant, beautiful speech—and I can understand it on a human level. But I think about the Danielle downstairs, the Danielle I knew.

It's hard for me to believe that anyone could love that woman so much, let alone the two women I'd been attracted to. How could Regina and Elsa love her so much and so fiercely?

Regina and Elsa are very different, it's true, but they have some things in common. They are both incredibly self-assured and know exactly what they want. They are strong, independent and fierce… What could women like that possibly see in petulant, cruel Danielle?

As if Elsa can hear my thoughts, she shakes her head as we walk down this new corridor, her shoes clicking against the red and black tiles. I hadn't been paying attention to which landing we'd gotten off on, but I know we're on the floor on which the Mills Vampires have their quarters, because of the tiles. The doors are ornately carved, and the windows have heavy, black curtains drawn over them.

"Danielle wasn't always like this. How you know her," says Elsa softly, quietly.

"She wasn't like this at all," she whispers.

"She was…" Her voice trails off as she paused before a tall, mahogany door carved with grapevines. She fishes her key ring out of her pocket.

"She was very kind. Very gentle. She made you forget everything dark and terrible that you'd ever seen." Elsa is gazing at the door as if she can see right through it, her eyes unfocused…gazing back on the past.

"She had a laugh that was bright, like sunshine. She was thoughtful. She remembered things you said—little things, things that weren't of any consequence, and she'd do something about them. Fix them. One time she learned that I'd lost my hat in a fall from my horse. This is way back in the day," says Elsa, her mouth quirking up at the corners as she remembers.

"She went out and bought me a new hat, and brought it to me. 'Just like the ones you love wearing,' she said. I remember that. It…touched me," says Elsa, her voice going low again as she gazes down at the doorknob while she fits the key into the lock.

"Honestly," says Elsa, then, over her shoulder, "Danielle reminded me of you."

Startled, I stand there for a long moment in the corridor, closing and opening my fists. I think about what Elsa has said. It would have been the most terrible of insults if Elsa had compared me to the Danielle downstairs. But the Danielle she'd known once…she didn't sound like the newfound Danielle. Not at all.

"Isn't that strange," I offer, following Elsa into the room as I glance about. "How time can change someone so much."

"That's like a line Unchained Danielle, isn't it?" says Elsa, her mouth quirking sideways as she takes a hat off the elaborately carved coat rack by the front door and plunks it on her head.

It's a fedora with a black satin ribbon looping around it.

She sprawls down in a plush blue chair by the unlit fireplace as she stretches overhead.

The rooms I now find myself in, I might have described as masculine if I hadn't known a woman lived in them. They are very sparse and only furnished with a few things. There is the main room, with a couch and chairs, a smaller room to the left that looks like a miniature library, the walls lined with mahogany shelves filled with messy rows of books, and then the bedroom to the right.

All of the walls in the rooms are covered with the same blue wallpaper and are mostly bare. Coupled with the few, modern-looking pieces of furniture, Elsa's living quarters give me a Spartan feel, as if every object within them has to have a purpose or would not be permitted within these walls.

The bed in the room to the far right is the only beautiful thing here, a sprawling king-size bed with a headboard and footboard made out of a dark, well-polished antique wood carved with vines and flowers.

The bed looked tall enough that you might need a stool to climb up into it.

"Impressed?" Elsa remarks, her mouth curling in a wry smile as she catches me glancing into her bedroom.

I'm appalled to find myself blushing as I shake my head, turning away from her and hoping my hair covers my red cheeks. I suddenly realize that an incredibly attractive woman—who I am incredibly attracted to—is lounging in a chair very close to me.

The blush deepens as Elsa stands, her mouth now grinning wickedly as her gaze rakes over me.

"Are you comfortable here, Emma?" she asks then, her voice neutral but low and sultry enough to send a shiver down my spine.

"Yes," I tell her, which is a sort-of truth. I glance up at her quickly, taking my purse off my shoulder.

"I…I have to plug in my phone," I stammer, trying to open the zipper on the purse and fumbling with it.

I quietly curse myself at being so clumsy. I wasn't special. Heavens knows that Elsa would probably have put the moves on a female statue. It isn't particularly special that she leans closer to me then, her fingers curling around my waist…to take the purse from me.

She grins deeper as I let out a sigh as she brushes past me, her hip bone grazing mine with a soft nudge as she takes my phone and its charger out of my purse, tossing the purse back onto the chair she'd vacated.

She crouches down next to the side of the fireplace, plugging the charger into the wall.

"Thank you for helping me, Elsa," I whisper.

Elsa glances up quickly at that, shaking her head as she plugs my phone into the charger. It beeps but doesn't light up in her hand.

"It's no trouble," she says tiredly, setting the phone down onto the floor as she places an elbow on one knee, glancing up at me.

I am suddenly aware of how stunning she looks, kneeling on one knee like someone preparing to be knighted.

I audibly gulp as she rises smoothly, shaking her head.

"It's the least I can do, really," she tells me, putting her hands in her pockets after a long moment, leaning forward toward me. She straightens a little, shaking her head.

"Anyway, I can go get you food—you must be hungry. I'll have to leave you here. And you'll have to stay out of sight, sadly, what with Danielle and Mal—"

"Elsa." I don't know why I think of it at that moment, but I'd been wondering, and, given that this will probably be my last night here, I might as well ask.

"Are you and Mal…" I trail off, remembering Mal' passionate kiss upon greeting Elsa.

"We're friends with very few benefits," says Elsa, then, one brow up. "Does that bother you?"

"Of course not," I tell her quickly.

"Ah. Well," says Elsa, striding smoothly in front of me as she curls her fingers over my hips again.

Two hands against my hips hold me snugly against her as my heart hammers, as I stare up at her open-mouthed.

"Why did you ask?" whispers Elsa, her bright blue eyes staring down and into me.

She feels strange against me. Her body is hard in a way that Anna's had not been, harder than Regina's.

Regina had fit against me in all the right places, and Elsa didn't exactly do that—we didn't join, curve to curve, effortlessly.

But do you need to?

Isn't connection, a body against a body, enough?

I'm so confused as I look up at Elsa. I'm not entirely certain if I want this.

We can be attracted to anyone and everyone, but acting on that attraction is another matter entirely.

But it's not as if Regina and I are together, or would ever be together, now that Danielle is in the picture. I'm not cheating or doing something wrong if I kiss this woman.

And I do desperately want to kiss her, to put my arms around her, to drag her down to me and taste her.

The attraction, the want, burns through me like my blood, rushing and moving much too quickly.

Still, I know, in that moment, that what I do now will matter. And that makes me pause.

I'm angry with myself. I wasn't with Regina. It was over. I should just kiss Elsa, should let things go wherever they were headed. I wasn't like this, usually, but I was hurt, and I need something soft and nice and lovely.

And Elsa doesn't fit that longing entirely—she isn't soft or nice, but she certainly is lovely. And she is nice to me, I supposed. That counts for something.

I want to stop thinking, to stop weighing everything, the good and the bad, to stop wishing for something that would never be.

So I close my eyes as I lift up my face, as Elsa leans down to me. And as effortless as breathing, our mouths connect.

She's cold, chill against my lips as I kiss her, but it's a pleasant chill, the kind that sends a shiver down your spine, the kind you can taste, like bright mint or the chill of the first snowfall, slightly metallic.

Almost immediately it's a hard kiss, a desperate sort of kiss, as I wrap my arms around her neck, and her fingers dig into my hips, hard.

Then somehow, terribly, there is a knock at the door. Elsa doesn't pause in her kiss, only presses me harder to her, but I take a step back, my hands on her chest now as I glance backward.

"Leave it," Elsa growls softly, almost inaudibly, as she stares down at me with bright, savage eyes.

"Miss Mills? I'm sorry to disturb you. It's me—Ruby," says Ruby on the other side of the door.

Elsa sighs, then, sliding her hands over me as she takes a step back, raking her fingers through her hair. She shrugs.

"Just a minute," she mutters loudly, then cleared her throat, looking to me as she raised a single brow and crossed her arms over her chest.

I clear my throat, too, my hands rising up to my hair. But nothing had happened. We'd just kissed. I press my fingers to my lips—they'll probably be bruised in the morning. I probably look freshly kissed. But that's okay. It's just Ruby at the door. Ruby would understand.

And I shouldn't feel guilty about anything. Because there is nothing between Regina and me.

I'm beginning to realize that there never had been.

I square my shoulders, walk to the door and open it.

Ruby's eyes became round as she glances from me to Elsa, further back in the room.

"Hi… I'm sorry to disturb you?" she asks, her head to the side. Whether she is wondering if she's sorry or if she's actually disturbed us, I'm not sure, but a smile flickers across Ruby's face before she tilts her head to the side, folding her arms.

"Um…Emma?" I shake my head, bit my lip and go back into the room to retrieve my purse, to remove my cell phone charger out of the wall and take my phone.

It hadn't been long enough for the phone to charge, but I need to talk to Ruby now.

"Thank you for your help," I tell Elsa, pausing in the doorway for a long moment. She shrugs elegantly, leaning against the wall as she watches me go, her expression unreadable.

"I hope I'll see you sooner rather than later," is all she says to me. And there is regret in her voice and her eyes as I shut the door behind me.

"So…there's a lot going on, and I don't know if I have the story straight or…what the heck just happened?" asks Ruby as we begin to stride quickly down the corridor, her voice rising in an excited squeak.

"Oh, my God, were you just making out with Elsa Mills?" I grin in spite of myself, shaking my head. But then the gravity of my situation comes back to me.

"I mean, yes—but there are more pressing matters, Ruby. I was let go from the Mills Hotel. Fired. It's over."

She pauses, the glee in her face dissolving to worry. "What? Why? Who—"

"Danielle fired me. And for no reason—no real reason, anyway. I think she did it because…she feels threatened by me? That there's something between me and Regina?" I spread my hands and shake my head.

"But, regardless, I'm no longer an employee of the hotel. The lock was changed on my room, and Danielle technically kicked me out this morning. My suitcases are down at the front desk. She wants me gone. But I don't have a car…" I trail off, raking my fingers through my hair again with a shake of my head. "I don't really know what to do."

"Have you talked to Regina about it?" Ruby's voice is low, a whisper, as I glance up at her quickly.

She shakes her head. "Don't give me that look," she continues, hands on her hips now. "Did you?"

"Danielle told me that Regina agreed with her decision," I say, but my words sound weak and flat, even to my own ears. Danielle hadn't said exactly that. Danielle had said that 'Regina knows that you need to leave'.

"I really think that you should go and talk to Regina," Ruby urges.

She glances down at the slim silver watch on her wrist. "It's almost six o'clock…"

She nudges aside one of the thick black curtains over a floor-to-ceiling-length window—outside, it's already dim and twilit, the parking lot far below, the ocean and the glimmering, distant lights of Storybrooke all washed in monochrome. The storm raging on with rain pelting the window in a curtain of rough water.

"I have to get into my cocktail uniform," says Ruby, closing the curtain snugly again.

"The Conference begins tonight with an intimate party in the Mills drawing room, and I'll be there—serving cocktails to everyone," she says, hurrying along the corridor.

She glances over her shoulder at me. "Promise me you'll talk to Regina? I really think we can get this sorted out," says Ruby, as I hurry after her.

"I don't know if it'll be that easy," I warn, but her calm confidence in the situation makes me feel better about it.

I'm very glad, again, that Elsa hadn't let me walk all the way to town, where I would have waited for hours by myself, getting more depressed by the moment over my new lot in life. The afternoon had certainly taken a different direction than I could ever have predicted. A much better direction—I hope.

"Of course it'll be that easy," says Ruby smoothly.

We've reached the spiral staircase, and we begin to head up to the fifth floor. Ruby, who is already on the staircase ahead of me, glances down at me with a small, calm smile.

"Honestly, Emma, this is just a minor roadblock; it's completely fixable. I really believe you were meant to be here." Her words make me stop cold, one hand on the banister, the other brushing frozen fingertips against the fabric of my skirt.

"Why do you… Why do you say that?" I manage, glancing up at her.

She shrugs, shaking her unruly mane. Curls fly every which way as her brow furrows, her hand spinning a low, lazy circle as she tries to figure out what to say.

"You know how you just know something?" she asks me, her head to the side. "I've known that you were meant to be here. Hell, I've felt that way ever since I arrived. There was a Emma-shaped hole in the Mills Hotel long before you ever got here. And now it's been filled. And it can't go back to being empty."

Ruby's smile at me radiates confidence, and I follow my best friend up the stairs with slow, plodding steps, mystified. Ruby's the kind of woman who believes in angels and crystals and past lives and cosmic energy, the kind of woman who trusts the universe because it's got something wonderful in store for her.

I've never been that kind of woman. I've never had that kind of trust. But when Ruby said, just then, that I was meant to be at the Mills Hotel…I felt the rightness of those words, too. Because I'd felt the same way, when I first arrived. I'd known I was meant to be here.

We climb to the fifth floor and stride to Ruby's door, situated right next to mine, with its shiny new doorknob and lock glittering. I sigh unhappily, glancing at it, but Ruby shakes her head as she slips her own key into her lock and turns the door handle.

She pushed the door open and steps inside her room.

"Don't you worry about that. We're going to fix this. Don't worry, okay?" she says, with her brows raised. Ruby tosses her key ring on the bed and picks up a long dry-cleaning bag that had been hung on a wall hook.

"I have to get changed super fast, or I'm going to be late."

Then she trots into the bathroom and partially shut the door behind her with her hip. "So, Elsa?" she calls out, utterly relentless.

I grin in spite of myself, glancing at my reflection in the antique silver mirror above the dresser. If I've ever looked freshly kissed, I don't now, but the memory of Elsa's mouth on my own lingers on my lips. I reach up and touched my mouth with my fingertips, watching my reflection, watching my eyes. They are hooded, unreadable, though my smile certainly says a lot.

"Yeah?" I call to Ruby, and sit down on the bed, leaning back on my hands after I plunk my purse down beside me, my cell phone and my charger spilling out of it.

"I thought you told me you were attracted to Regina? That you weren't attracted to Elsa because you wanted a relationship…and that you were pretty certain that Elsa was incapable of having a relationship—if I recall correctly." Her tone is wheedling, and I can hear zippers being sworn at under her breath. I shake my head, glancing down at my shoes. I kick off my flats, let my feet rest against the cool wood floor absentmindedly.

"I'm still not certain how capable Elsa is of a relationship," I say softly, and I pause, considering Ruby's words. "But…but maybe I'm not in the market for a relationship right now."

There's a strangled sound, and then Ruby peers around the door with wide eyes. "Emma Swan, are you telling me that you're looking for a one-night stand?"

Ruby sounds half-joking and half in shock as she pushes the bathroom door open the entire way, fiddling with the back of her tiny dress.

She doesn't give me a chance to reply. "Can you help me with this stupid dress? It's so annoying, and I'm so late," she moans, turning her back to me and showing me the half-zipped-up zipper.

"Wait—you're wearing that?" I gasp incredulously.

Ruby looks, well, hyper-sexualized. She's wearing a short maid's outfit, complete with a fluffy black skirt that only just covers her bottom, tons of tulle and a white lacy apron. Her black stockings sheath the skin of her legs, but they leave little to the imagination. Coupled with the black heels and plunging neckline, she looks as if she's wearing the sort of maid costume they sell in Halloween stores, not something an actual human woman wears while serving cocktails at a posh party.

"Hey, I don't pick the uniforms," Ruby snorts, wiggling at me. "Hurry and zip me up. I'm late."

"So you keep saying," I mutter, rising and crossing the room. I zip Ruby's back and triy tugging the dress up a little to cover even a millimeter more skin.

"It's no good. I already tried that," she mutters dryly, twisting in the bathroom mirror this way and that as she considers herself, patting down the puffed skirt. I shake my head, crossing my arms.

"Who exactly is responsible for this fetish wear?" Ruby starts laughing and adjusts the bow at the back of the apron.

"Rumor has it that Elsa had these uniforms made specially, just for the occasion," Ruby says slyly, arching one brow at me. She picks up a tube of lipstick off the sink's rim and pops off the cap, then purses her lips and carefully applies a smear of red.

"But hey—there's just as many guys as gals at this thing tonight, and I don't mind showing off a little skin. Everyone will probably tip great; I heard all the guests are loaded. And who knows? Maybe there'll be a super-loaded guy who will start this amazing conversation with me, be as turned on by my brain as my bod, and I could get lucky!"

I laugh and shake my head. "Just remember that I'm shacking up with you tonight," I quip, as Ruby blots her lips with a tissue. "If you have to bring a guy back to your room, give me some sort of warning so I can go for a walk or…something."

"I'd probably be going to his room, sugar," says Ruby with a wide, cheesy grin as she tosses the lipstick back onto the sink. "And, anyway, you know I'm all talk… I still haven't gotten over Gary."

I roll my eyes so hard that they're in danger of falling out. "That you ever had something with Gary to be gotten over is an incredible feat—"

"Hey, don't start in on that poor man again," Ruby sighs, smoothing down the front bodice and skimpy apron as she pouts in the mirror, pulling her hair up into a high bun and jabbing at the stray curls with bobby pins.

"I just think that you shouldn't mourn jerks," I say, then spread my hands as she glares at my reflection in the mirror. "And that's all I'll say on the matter."

"Yeah, well," Ruby mutters around a mouthful of bobby pins, "the past is behind us now, isn't it?"

My reflection takes on a somber expression, and I turn, walking back into the bedroom as images of Anna fill my head.

If Danielle had, in fact, talked to Regina about my leaving, if Regina really had agreed with her and wanted me to leave—for good—then that means that I'm headed back to Greensprings, New Hampshire…the town where Anna and I had started to build a life together before her accident. Before I'd lost her.

Again, I'd be surrounded with a million reminders of the life we could have had together—and didn't. Again, I'd spend every day with a shadow from my past haunting my every moment. Again, I would spend every day mourning what could never be. Mourning her.

I…don't want the rest of my days to be filled with regret. Not about Anna. And not about Regina. And not about Elsa.

"Are you okay?" Ruby murmurs, coming out of the bathroom. She looks ready to go, with her usually crazy mane of hair pinned up prettily, standing there in her ridiculous maid outfit.

"I'm all right," I tell her with a soft smile. Which is the truth. The path my life takes will never again be chosen for me. I will decide my own fate, I know. I vow. Starting now. Vampires be damned.

"Have…fun?" I ask, and smile again as I hug her tightly.

"Wish me, like, a million dollars in tips," says Ruby, kissing me lightly on the cheek before heading quickly to her door.

"Good luck," I mutter, after she's shut the door behind her.

* * *

_**A/N:**_ Alrighty guys, that was my last update of the night, I hope you're enjoying it, and I just want to remind you all to not forget that **SwanQueen is Endgame!**

**XoXo - TheLoveOfApples**


	23. Chapter 23

For a long time after Ruby left, I thought about heading back to Elsa's rooms and…finishing what we'd started. Whenever I considered the notion, my heart fluttered, and I fell into a reverie, remembering her cool lips pressed hard against mine..

True, I felt guilty for thinking about Elsa, but every time the guilt reared its ugly head, I reminded myself of the fact that Regina and I were not, and had never been, a couple.

Still, I was so confused.

I'd think of Regina, and I'd close my eyes and feel, again, her arms, her mouth…that one cold, beautiful kiss… I was driving myself crazy.

So instead of thinking about the two beautiful vampires that my mind and heart were obsessing over, I tried not to think at all. I read some of the magazines Ruby had on her bedside table. They were mostly about yoga, and since I don't do yoga, all of the talk about asanas and proper posture went over my head.

Eventually, I fell asleep with her bedside lamp on and a yoga magazine open beside me. And I dreamed...

_...I stood on a tall balcony, many stories up, my fingers resting lightly on the elaborate bronze railing as I looked out to the sea. The sea breeze was so sharp, so cold, but I stood there, still and resolute despite the cold, my heart thundering in me. _

_I knew I was at the Mills Hotel, because behind me and below me stood the familiar, tell-tale red stone of the building._

_There were a dozen Roses on the small, round table behind me, their crystal vase resting in the very center of the lace doily on the smooth and polished tabletop. _

_They had just been brought to me by a small, shaky bellboy who probably wouldn't last long here, I thought. His subconscious knew he was surrounded by hunters, and even though they would never hunt him, he still feared them. _

_The Roses were so fragrant, even on this windy, storm-tossed autumn day. The beautiful perfume reached my nose even here, even out on the balcony with the stiff salt breeze to cool me. _

_The Roses unsettled me, but—in the dream—I couldn't remember exactly why. _

_It was the feeling that I knew something, but couldn't quite remember it, and that sensation was maddening. _

_There was a knock at the door. _

_My heart began to beat faster, and I turned slowly, glancing down at myself. _

_The dress I wore was so…big. With wide, large red skirts and something that squeezed me around my middle. I pressed my fingers to my unnaturally slimmed waist—a corset? _

_The dress made moving slow, like I was treading through water, but I managed to stride off the balcony, through the room with its odd, antique decorations, to the door. _

_I opened it, and Elsa was there. _

_Like I knew she'd be. _

_She was wearing a men's suit, like she always does, but this one was a little different from her usual attire—more antique looking, with the waistcoat that bore a gold watch chain. _

_Her hair was different, parted on the side and slicked back with grease, and her hat looked like something out of vaudeville. She had it in her hands in front of her, twisting the brim this way and that, and her mouth was in a downward turning grimace. _

"_You got the flowers," she said softly—not a question. _

_In the dream, I took a step back. _

_There was something off, ominous between us as Elsa stepped into the room, as she shut the door softly behind us. Like a confession was about to be made. _

"_I've done everything I could…" _

_I stared at her in surprise as she choked down a sob, turning toward me, breathing out. Though she was cold, I knew, like all vampires, there was a heat that crackled between us. _

"_Please believe me," she began, taking a deep breath to calm herself, searching my eyes with her own, flashing green ones, "that I have done everything I could to rid myself of you." _

_She took one more step forward, and then she was standing right there before me, and her cold fingers were grasping my hand as tightly as any lifeline. _

"_I love you," she whispered, and my blood thundered through me as she fell to her knees brokenly, wrapping her arms tightly about my waist as she stared up at me, her face contorted in pain. _

"_Tell me what you will, tell me that I must stop in this pursuit of you. But I can not. I feel for you something I have never felt, and she…" The word was spat out between us. "She has everything. She's always had everything. She has you, and I will never have a chance with you because of her." _

"_Elsa, please…" I whispered, trying to take a step back as she gripped me tightly. _

_It was not my voice that spoke those words—it was a voice I almost didn't recognize, but did enough to wonder where I'd heard it before. _

"_You ask of me an impossibility," I murmured, my hands closing over hers behind me as I breathed out. _

"_Please understand, I care about you. I care about you truly. You are a very good friend." _

_Elsa looked so betrayed, so utterly gutted, that my heart felt like it was breaking. _

"_A friend," she whispered. Her hands fell away from me, and she Rose slowly, her knees dusty as she stood, her fingers shaking. "And is that all I may ever hope for?" _

_I stood so still, felt the weight of the moment so deeply as I whispered: "my heart belongs to another." _

"_Regina," said Elsa slowly, evenly. She bit her lip, put her hat on her head and breathed out. _

"_Of course. But I had to know. I had to try. I have loved you," she said, then, and when she looked up at me, the fervency in her eyes took my breath away. "And I won't stop," she murmured. "I can not." _

_The door closed behind her strongly, and an especially unfurled Rose shuddered against its brothers in the crystal vase. A single petal dislodged and plummeted to the note that had been pinned to the vase, that I'd taken from its pin and read and let drop to the tabletop because it was too painful to hold. _

_How Elsa had repeated the words "I love you" over and over again in tiny, desperate pen strokes. _

_But as I strode forward to look down at the note, I couldn't quite see it, because a voice was calling my name… _

...Which is how Ruby wakes me up.

"Oh, my God, Emma, I need your help," she hisses, shaking my shoulder again and again. Hard.

"What?" I mumble, blinking my bleary eyes, trying to dislodge the ominous feeling the dream had given me. I rub at them and try to focus on her. I hadn't taken off my makeup, and my mascara was making my eyelids glue together at the corners.

"What's the matter? What time is it?"

"Almost eight. Look, I'm so, so, so sorry to spring this on you," says Ruby, not even taking a breath as she bites her lip, tucking a loose curl behind her ear, "but you have got to help me—Emma, I'm desperate."

Immediately, I'm sitting up in bed, searching for bite marks on Ruby's very exposed neck and shoulders.

Nothing.

Had she been bitten? Was she in trouble? My heart rate began to skyrocket. What could possibly have happened to her?

"What's the matter?" I ask, shoving hair out of my eyes.

"It's Clare," says Ruby, all in a rush, her brows furrowed and stray curls of her hair escaping the pins.

"She was supposed to help me serve the cocktails at this drawing room soiree or whatever the hell it is, but she can't, because she got sick. Something about bad chowder. She's really sick; she isn't faking. There's just no way she can help. And, oh, my God, there are so many people, Emma… Like a hundred or something in that one drawing room. I can't serve cocktails alone. I've tried, and I can't. Please help me?"

My best friend clasps her hands and begins to wring them in front of my eyes like a silent film actress in a very desperate situation.

"I'm going mad," Ruby continues after a second. "You don't even know. I mean, they want all of this special stuff, these really elaborate drinks that I don't have made up, because of course they're rich people, and rich people are picky, I guess. I don't know!"

She is practically wailing as I open my mouth and try to say something, but she's shaking her head, continuing, "So then I have to rush down to the kitchens, and I'd like to point out that we don't have an elevator, and everyone wants something different, and if you don't help me, I think I'm going to keel over in ten more minutes. I can't do this alone," she moaned.

"You want me to help you serve cocktails," I manage, blinking. "But…I was fired—"

"Oh, who gives a shit about that? I'll pay you," said Ruby, her eyes wide.

"It's not about the money," I say quickly, shaking my head. I would never take money from Ruby for helping her out.

"It's Danielle," I say softly, with a grimace. "If Danielle sees me—"

"Let her. Everyone knows we're understaffed, and I challenge any one of those Mills women to argue against someone offering to help," mutters Ruby, bristling.

"If Danielle says anything to you, you just tell me. It'll be like—justified homicide."

I smile in spite of myself at my best friend's fierceness. The fact that Danielle is a vampire—that if she didn't exactly like me being here, she could do something quite drastic and final about it—wasn't exactly a piece of information I could share with Ruby.

Honestly, though, I didn't think Danielle would be so bold as to drain me dry.

Still, Mal had certainly tried it.

I massaged my forehead and took a deep breath. But the truth of the matter was this: I wasn't afraid of Danielle. And I was no longer afraid of Mal.

I didn't have anything to lose. And that made me just as dangerous as they were.

"Okay," I say quickly, sliding my legs over the side of the bed and standing with a stretch. "Just tell me what to do and how to do it. I've never served cocktails before."

"You're a lifesaver," Ruby says with a squeal, hugging me tightly. "There's just…one more thing," she murmured with a wince. She glanced down at herself.

And at her tiny, very revealing maid outfit.

"Oh, no," I mutter, holding up one hand. "I'll help you serve the cocktails, but I have to draw the line at a skirt that's too short to even be defined as a skirt."

"Hey, Elsa went through so much trouble to pick these costumes out." She held up another dry-cleaner's bag with a chuckle and a wink.

"Yeah, well, you can bet that I'm going to give Elsa an earful later," I mutter, snatching the bag from Ruby's hands and turning to trudge into the bathroom.

"You know she'd probably find that earful sexy," says Ruby from the bedroom, as I laugh and unzip my skirt, unbutton my blouse and take off my clothes, stepping into the maid uniform.

One glance in the mirror, and I chuckle beneath my breath.

I look ridiculous.

When I wear costumes, I'm usually cross-dressing—as a pirate or a male vampire, laughably—not as a scantily clad female servant.

I look genuinely pained and uncomfortable in the dress.

I notice as I turn in front of the mirror that I'm trying to walk a little lower, with my knees bent—not that this would actually aid the skirt's ability to cover my rear.

I have a long torso and legs which requires me to wear long-waisted garments, or things just end up looking too short on me.

It is a very specific woman who looks great in a very short skirt and plunging neckline. And trust me: I was not that specific woman.

"Emma, I've already been gone ten minutes. We might have a riot on our hands if we stay away any longer," Ruby mutters outside the door.

I sweep my hair up in a high ponytail and apply Ruby's lipstick, and then I'm out the door, self-consciously shifting from one foot to the other as Ruby looks me up and down.

"Pretty terrible, right?" I ask, and Ruby wrinkles her nose, head to the side.

"I mean, no. It's not bad," she says carefully, which is Ruby's way of saying yes, absolutely terrible in the nicest way possible.

"But we have to go," she says, threading her arm through mine and all but dragging me out her bedroom door and down the hallway. Now that I'm in the corridor where anyone could, in fact, see me in this ridiculous outfit, I feel more embarrassed than ever.

A breeze could be felt in bodily regions that make me highly aware of how little I am wearing.

We trot down the spiral staircase to the drawing room floor, and we click across the red and black tiles as Ruby mutters things over her shoulder—how to hold the tray; the fact that it was an open bar, so money wasn't changing hands, but that the guests were tipping.

If my run-in that morning with the hundred-dollar tipper was any indication, vampires tipped very well.

So at least there was that to look forward to.

* * *

**A/N:**_** Hey guys, sorry for such a long wait in between updates, this semester of school hit me pretty hard and I had absolutely no time to write. I promise to update as often as I can over the next two weeks, but with finals week approaching, I'm not sure how much I'll actually be able to accomplish. I used this update as a break in between studying, so maybe I'll just keep doing that, we'll see ;) **_

_**I loved coming back and reading all of your reviews, and I would like to say thank you to all those who expressed concerns regarding my well being! **_

_**Let me know what you thought of this chapter! **_


	24. Chapter 24

_If my run-in that morning with the hundred-dollar tipper was any indication, vampires tipped very well. _

_So at least there was that to look forward to..._

But it was a small consolation as we reached the drawing room door.

The door was partially open, and a few vampires lingered outside of it, smoking and talking in small groups as they lounged against the wall. They don't pay Ruby and me any sort of attention as we walk past them, and then we are in the drawing room itself, where it is, blessedly, dark enough that my hideous outfit will be partially hidden—I hope.

The far wide fireplace is lit, and a few lamps are on, but their small bulbs are of such a low wattage that my eyes actually have to adjust from the dimly lit hallway to the very dimly lit drawing room.

The room is very crowded but hushed. Everyone speaks in low tones, and there are a few punctuations of laughter, but for the most part, vampires lounge on couches and chairs or lean against walls and mill in the center of the room. It is a very low-key party, with cigarettes dangling from lips and wine glasses and martini glasses in hand as they bend their heads to one another and discuss things in soft voices.

"Here," Ruby whispers, picking up a tray of full glasses from a table by the door.

"Carry it in front of you and ask people nicely if they'd like a drink. They'll put their finished glasses on your tray, too, if they have one, so bring those back to this table and keep going, okay?"

I nod, take a deep breath and accept the tray. I glance around the room, steeling myself as I remember who exactly is here. The tray itself and its glassware aren't very heavy, but the prospect of interacting with Danielle has taken the wind out of my sails.

It's one thing to have bravado before the event, and another thing entirely to be brave during it. I'm doing my best. I just don't want a scene.

I don't want her to pick me apart in front of Regina, something I believe that she is entirely capable of doing.

I carry the antique tray into the room, aware of the wood against my palms, of the gentle clink of the glasses. The scent of tobacco, of expensive perfume and clove cigarettes begin to merge with the scent of the alcohol as I drift to the right, looking for a familiar face.

"Would you like a drink?" I ask the occupants of a low, red velvet love seat, narrow but still long enough to hold five women. They'd had to get creative with the seating arrangements to make themselves all fit, however.

Bell sat on the far right end of the love seat, in the lap of a woman dressed in a suit, her buzz cut blonde hair and flashing eyes utterly captivating. Bell herself was resplendent, her short blonde curls swept back from her face. She wore a plunging blue dress that the Leave it to Beaver mother might have shown off in a more liberated time than the fifties.

Bell leans forward with a bright smile as she glances up at me, her necklace of fat pearls dripping down over her décolletage and making her even more beautiful with its refined elegance. But, to be perfectly honest, Bell would have been beautiful in a potato sack.

"Emma, are you helping Ruby out with the drinks? That's so wonderful of you! I heard about Clare being sick. That's just awful. I hope she's all right soon," says Bell all in a rush as she snatches up a martini glass from my tray.

"And, oh, my gosh, Emma, how lovely you look! You totally have the legs to pull off that dress. I don't think I could quite manage it," she laughs and winks at me.

"I think it's ridiculous," says Jane succinctly, from beside Bell.

She has her left ankle on her right knee and an arm around the woman who holds Bell in her lap. Jane's mouth is in a thin, hard line, and she looks as sour as usual as her eyes sweep over me.

She, too, wears a suit, her blonde hair formed into a pompadour style, the tie over her chest shot through with silver thread that glittered in the low light. She frowns deeper as she gives me the once over.

"It's ludicrous, that maid's uniform. Why was Elsa permitted to be so self-indulgent?"

"No one else wanted to think about it, and Elsa stepped up to the plate," says Bell.

"And Emma looks fine, Jane. Don't be so insulting."

One of Jane's brows rises up, and she shrugs, pointedly glancing elsewhere as she shoots back the drink in her hands. It looks like a scotch.

"Does anyone else want a drink?" I ask the rest of the love seat. My cheeks are flushed, but I doubt that anyone can make out my blush in the dark room.

When no one else takes a glass or shows any interest in my question whatsoever, I leave the love seat and turn, carefully balancing the tray of drinks as a man brushes past me too closely, upsetting the balance of the tray on my hand.

I steady it, breath out a sigh of relief, and glance up.

And there is Regina.

My heart leaps into my throat as I stare at her, and she stare at me.

She leans, of course, against the fireplace—one of her favorite haunts in the room. And, of course, she holds a slim cigarette to her lips.

As I watched, she narrows her eyes and inhale deeply from it, the cigarette smoke spiraling up and around her face, shrouding her features for half a heartbeat…but incapable of shadowing her eyes.

Even through the smoke, her violently brown eyes burn their gaze into me, down into the very deepest parts of me.

I stand, stilled by an invisible force, as Regina and I gaze at one another.

Regina Mills, like always, holds me spellbound.

Tearing my gaze away—because I have to; because I can't lose myself to those electrifying eyes again—I woodenly ask the next group of people if they'd like something to drink.

I don't remember if anyone takes a glass, or even if they acknowledged me. Because like a certain and absolute gravity, my entire body is turning toward Regina again.

I am so close to the fireplace.

A few more groups of vampires, asking them if they are thirsty (of course they are thirsty, but not for what I held in front of me) and a few more drinks taken, I'd be right in front of her, asking her that laughable question: Can I get you anything? Are you thirsty?

Time moves forward too quickly. Because of course I go through those groups, ask my inane questions. And then I am standing in front of her.

Regina flicks the ash off the end of her cigarette and regards me with her head to the side, her mouth parted a little, her lips wet and glistening in the light from the fireplace.

Or maybe she is wearing lip gloss—though she doesn't really strike me as the type of woman to do such a thing.

I stare at that mouth, can't help but stare at that exquisite mouth.

Regina shifts ever so slightly toward me, angling her body away from the crowds, leaning one shoulder against the mantle.

"How are you, Emma?" she asks with that beautiful, deep voice.

Considering the circumstances, considering what had happened to me today, I can't help but splutter, holding the tray tightly in front of me, like a shield.

"Maybe it's for the best," is what I manage to tell her, then.

Her brows furrow, and those deep brown eyes narrow further.

I want to tell her that I don't want to go. I want to tell her that I feel complete here, at the Mills Hotel. I know, in that moment, that even just seeing Regina every day would be enough for me.

I know that isn't true.

Being tortured every day by the realization that someone I utterly and truly despised could hold and touch and kiss the woman who'd stolen my heart…I mean, it was the most masochistic way to live imaginable.

But I'd do it.

I'd do it for her.

My jaw clenches, and I work up the courage to tell her this, because her face belied pain, beneath the surface of her skin, deep in her heart, as she leans forward, toward me, so much taller than me in those heels.

I inhale the scent of her, and my knees—already weak—weaken further, and then her cold, sure fingers are at the curve of my hip, radiating coolness through the cloth of my tiny dress…

And Danielle comes sweeping out of the crowd, like a shark descending toward its prey with grim and absolute resolve.

She snakes an arm around Regina's waist, and then she is glaring at me, her eyes flashing so dangerously, I take an involuntary step backward.

And Regina's touch leaves me.

I almost cry out from how painful that is, how my heart twists inside me, beating too quickly, searing and anguished.

"You have drinks to serve," Danielle hisses at me, and then she wraps her arms tightly around Regina's waist.

But Regina doesn't turn to meet Danielle's body.

She stands square, her feet hip-width apart, her jaw clenched, too, her shoulders rigid as she watches me back away, back away from the both of them.

Regina opens her mouth to say something, her dark eyes bright, but she closes her mouth again after a heartbeat.

What could she say, after all?

Danielle looks surprised that Regina isn't turning toward her, isn't responding to her obvious advances and shows of affection, but the surprise doesn't last long.

She stands up on her tiptoes and presses her full lips to Regina's cheek. And then she begins to whisper in Regina's ear.

It makes me sick to my stomach to see how familiar she is with Regina. I turn, blinded by tears I absolutely refuse to shed, and then I stand for a long moment, my back to the two of them, until I can turn and realize that the crowd had swallowed them from my view.

Why does it have to be so painful, seeing Danielle with Regina? Why does it have to feel so wrong?

A kind of wrongness that makes my insides cry out, that makes my heart stir in me. There is so much injustice in the entire arrangement, and at that moment, I couldn't have told you why I felt like this. I just know that Regina and Danielle together is…wrong.

I move on to a low antique sofa and woodenly open my mouth to inquire whether the occupants of it are thirsty, my heart aching so dangerously that it is hard to draw a deep breath.

Lacey lounges at that couch, her legs crossed, and her men's suit being worn with such grace that no one could ever call it a "man's" suit again—it is solely meant for her.

Her red-brown hair is perfectly greased back, and she is tugging a little at her bow tie to loosen it around her neck when she glances up at me, and her large brown eyes widen as she takes me in.

She stands in one smooth motion, and puts a gentle hand at my back.

"Are you all right?" she asks me quietly, steering me toward the door and the table to set my tray of drinks on.

"I'm fine," I tell her, just as quietly. We can both hear the lie in my voice.

"Emma, what's going on?" asks Lacey, when I finally set the tray on the table.

She takes my shoulders in her hands and holds me steady, staring down and into my eyes, her brow furrows.

"Is it Danielle?"

"Yes, it's Danielle…" I don't know exactly what to tell her.

Her kind, gentle gaze and her concern is making my stomach knot and all of the tears I'd been choking down are now threatening to spill.

"You were really wonderful to me, Lace," I tell her, then, gazing up at her and—stepping forward—embracing her tightly.

The vampire freezes under my show of affection, and I step back, suddenly self-conscious.

"I'm sorry," I manage, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand. I draw in a deep breath.

"I'm going to miss you," I tell her then, my voice small.

Her eyes grow wider. "What are you talking about? You're leaving?"

I shake my head. "Didn't you hear? I thought everyone would have heard by now," I add a little bitterly.

I spread my hands. "Danielle fired me. I'm going to try to talk to Regina about it, beg my case…I don't really want to leave the Hotel. Even after…everything."

I wave my hand in the direction of the fireplace, of Danielle and Regina who I can't see, but I know are there, Danielle's arms possessively around Regina.

Sometimes, the way that Danielle clings to Regina feels like they are out at sea, and Danielle is determined to pull Regina under the water forever.

Lacey's wide, brown eyes change, then.

I'd never seen her gaze harden, but it did now as she straightens, as her jaw hardens, too.

She softens a little as she looks down at me.

"Don't worry," she says softly, reaching out and squeezing my hand with her own cold fingers.

"It's going to be fixed," she promises, her voice soothing. She turns and quickly disappears in the crowd.

But I don't want Lacey to fight my battles for me, as sweet as that is. I begin to stride after her, but I'm not exactly looking where I am going, in the dark room, and my thigh connects with the arm of a sofa.

And then I stopped in my tracks.

There was Elsa.

She's changed her clothes, is still wearing dress pants, but now there is a suit jacket over her white dress shirt, and a different tie. The fedora is pulled down low over her face, and she is chatting up a blonde vampire who is so pretty that I can't believe she is real.

The blonde's hair, formed in scalloped waves down her back, practically glow, and her dress looks like it's been sewn onto her body, a soft, shiny black satin that hugs her tightly in all the right places.

I can't exactly tell if the dress's color is black or a very dark shade of purple—not that the color actually matters. Her red lips are close to Elsa's cheek as she whispers something into her ear, making Elsa chuckle softly.

Elsa's hand is on the vampire's thigh, her fingers resting lightly under the woman's knee-length skirt.

Elsa glances up, and to her credit, she pales upon seeing me.

She leans back on the couch, slowly removing her hand from the vampire's leg.

"Emma? What are you doing here?" she asked mildly.

"Helping Ruby," I manage, clearing my throat.

I gestured back toward the table at the room's entrance with a grimace and try to sound sincere—but it comes out a little sarcastically: "Would you like a drink?"

The blonde vampire's eyebrows are raised, and she isn't looking at me but smirking and glancing sidelong at Elsa.

"No, thank you," says Elsa softly.

Then she is standing, tugging at her suit jacket's lapels as she clears her throat.

I don't say anything.

I turned on my heel, my cheeks burning, to continue along the wall to follow Lace.

"Emma, wait," says Elsa tiredly, and then she is right behind me, her sure fingers tight around my elbow again. But it's the same hand that had been resting against that woman's thigh, and I shrug out of her grasp, stepping sideways.

"I'm sorry. I have work to do," I say woodenly, trying to glimpse Lacey in the crowd—but she's completely disappeared from view.

I'm not really really certain what to feel.

I feel a little ill from the night's events, to be honest.

Regina.

Then Danielle.

And now this.

I'm not stupid. I know that Elsa hadn't promised me anything with that kiss.

It was, after all, just a kiss. But I guess I'd been hoping… Well, I don't really know what I'd been hoping for.

After all, this is just who Elsa is. I shouldn't have expected anything else. I don't know why I did.

"Can't you talk for a moment?" sighs Elsa in exasperation. "Look—"

"I have to help Ruby," I tell Elsa crisply.

It is, after all, the only reason I'm subjecting myself to this terrible night, to help out my best friend who deserves more than me standing around and talking to vampires. I need to start serving the drinks again...

Then Elsa spreads her hands and shrugs, taking a step back. She is swallowed up by the milling crowd, and I breathe out for a long moment before heading back to the room's entrance.

I move quickly back to the door to the drawing room, but there are no more trays there with drinks, only empty ones. Ruby is halfway into the room with a full tray upon her hands, a wide smile on her face as she asked a small group of male vampires if they'd like a drink.

They were all pointedly staring at her very bare neck, which causes me to shiver. But they wouldn't do anything—not here. And hell—maybe they'd tip her even better.

A few days into the Mills Hotel and I am getting cynical about vampires.

I sigh for a long moment and pick up an empty tray. Ruby says that she's kept going back down to the kitchens, so maybe that's where I could go to refill these trays.

Several floors down.

I sigh but stack the trays together and put them under my arm. I glance back once into the room, but the space is too crowded; I can't see Lace. I can't see Regina. And I can't find Elsa. And that, I realize, is probably for the best.

Elsa can do what she wants with herself. She owes no loyalty to me.

But the sight of her hand on the woman's leg had still stung. Just like the sight of Danielle's arm around Regina's waist. I can't do anything about either of them. They are their own women.

But my heart still twists inside of me as I push my way out of the drawing room and into the corridor. The lights are so bright—in comparison to those in the drawing room—that it takes a moment for my gaze to adjust.

I set off down the now empty corridor with the trays, heading toward the spiral staircase.

And I turn a corner.

And there is Elsa.

She's leaning against the wall nonchalantly, like a detective in a noir film, her hands deep in her pockets, her dress shirt unbuttoned at the top, an unlit cigarette dangling from her lips.

I'd found out that most of the Mills women smoked, but none nearly as much as Regina. Elsa hardly ever lit up but often had a pack of cigarettes on her "just in case."

A very long life has its advantages.

I pause, biting my lip as Elsa pushes off from the wall, plucking up her cigarette and neatly threading it through her fedora's hatband. She cocks her head at me with a frown.

"We've got to stop meeting like this," I say after a long moment. I'd meant to be funny, but the words come out half-choked, and I swallow, holding the trays tighter to me.

"I'm sorry," she says gruffly, then, forming the words slowly, as if she isn't used to uttering them.

"I thought you were leaving the hotel. It was…upsetting to me."

I was astonished.

Again, this inscrutable, sarcastic woman was baring her heart to me, casting her vulnerability at my feet. She didn't have to apologize. But she did, anyway

"It's none of my business what you do—you don't owe me anything," I tell her, but the words are gentle, and I feel my shoulders subtly relax.

Elsa steps forward, her bright blue gaze burning into my eyes.

"Emma," she says, and the word is sad and small…desperate.

"I want it to be your business," she says softly.

And then, just like that, she is kissing me again.

She's threaded her fingers into the hair at the base of my neck, pulled back loosely with the ponytail. It feels so good, her cool fingertips against my scalp, the length of her hard body pressed against mine.

It feels so good, how she cradles my face with her palms, first gently, and then her hands are moving down, over my bare shoulders, making me shiver, before clasping my waist tightly.

Her mouth against me tastes of nicotine and scotch; her lips are warm and soft and dangerous and desperate as she kisses me hard, holding me hard.

I press against her, too.

I'd been desperately jealous of that blonde woman, of the casual way Elsa's fingers had worked under the hem of her skirt. They'd just rested against that woman's knee, it was true, but I hadn't wanted Elsa to touch her.

I'd wanted Elsa to touch me.

I realized, then, as Elsa's mouth devoured mine, as her lips began to make a hot, wet trail to the lobe of my ear, down my neck, as I shivered against her, that I wanted this very much.

Everything else faded away when Elsa touched me, when she kissed me.

There was no outside world.

There was no Regina, who made my heart ache, no Danielle, who made me so very angry.

No injustice.

No loss.

There was nothing but the two of us together, anchored to one another with mouths and hands, bodies pressed against one another like we were all that held the other up.

Elsa made me forget my pain, made me forget all of the things I'd wanted so much that I could never have now.

Elsa made me forget Regina.

Elsa's mouth is on mine again, and my arms are wrapped around her neck, the trays against her back as I try to hold onto them with only my fingers, as Elsa's hands still hold my hips tightly, the fluff of my skirts flattened between us.

I hardly noticed the cool click of shoes sounding out hollowly in the corridor behind me, from the direction of the drawing room.

But when Elsa glances up, her eyes dark with desire, her brows narrow.

And then I turn and go cold—body and soul.

Regina.

She strides toward us slowly, with measured steps, one hand gracefully holding a cigarette that she takes an occasional pull from.

Out in the better light of the corridor, it is easy to appreciate her outfit, with the red shirt and the plunging neckline and the high-collared jacket.

Her dark brown eyes are narrowed, too, as she takes in the scene before her.

She flicks the ash off the end of her cigarette, which dangles from the tips of her fingers as she sighs out for a long moment, clearing her throat.

"Emma, Elsa," she says, her low, gravelly voice sending a shiver down my spine.

Elsa frowns, tightening her hands at my hips.

Maybe I am reading too much into it, but Elsa seems to be conveying, with her forward posture, with the way that she's widened her stance on the floor, her feet now hip-width apart as she leans towards Regina with a hard frown, that she is saying, very clearly, "Mine."

I glance from Elsa to Regina, feeling my heart break into two very sharp pieces.

Regina takes another pull from her cigarette as she gazes into my eyes.

Hers are hard slits, but as I gaze deeper, I see that hardness give away to pain as she shakes her head, dropping the cigarette and stomping down on it slowly with the toe of her shoe.

It makes a light scratching sound against the marble, and then there is only the distant hum of murmuring voices and laughter.

The corridor itself is as silent as the grave.

"I'm sorry for whatever happened earlier. With Danielle," says Regina, her voice so low, it's almost a growl.

"I want you to know that you don't have to leave the Mills Hotel. Not unless you choose to. Your position here is safe for however long you want it."

It sounds so official as she squares her shoulders, as she lifts her head, not looking directly at us as she turns a little, putting her hands into her pockets, glancing sidelong at me with deep brown eyes that pin me to the spot.

"It seems," she murmurs softly, "that there are others who want you here as much as I do."

"More, Regina," says Elsa, her teeth gritting together as her fingers tighten so strongly on my hips they are almost painful.

I breathe out as Elsa's eyes darkened. "Much more than you do."

Regina exhales. She stands very still for such a long moment, I can actually feel my heart aching within me.

She turns, then, her face in profile carefully controlled, carefully neutral, and she walks away slowly, the corridor shadowing her long, lank form until she's reached the drawing room again, pulling the great door open and closing it quietly behind her.

Elsa's mouth finds my neck, and she brushes her cold lips against my skin there as my heart thunders in me, as I realize what exactly had just transpired.

Some things had changed irrevocably:

I could stay.

Elsa wanted me.

And Regina did not.

* * *

**A/N: _Keep hanging in there guys, SwanQueen is on it's way!_**


	25. Chapter 25

**A/N:_ Alright guys, here's a longer update for you! Don't forget to review! Every new review encourages me to write and update faster! _**

**_Love you all, enjoy!_**

* * *

I woke up in a bed I didn't recognize, an arm wrapped loosely around my waist, and a body pressed tightly to my back.

This, normally, wouldn't be a bad way for most people to wake up. But as my heart rate accelerates, as I breathe out and in, my pulse quickening through my body, I feel a sense of dread come over me.

I don't remember falling asleep.

I certainly don't remember falling asleep next to someone.

I glance up at the ceiling, cast a cursory glance around the room.

I'm in someone else's bed and someone else's room.

Yes, I know I'd had a bit to drink last night. I remember that much, at least. But I can't remember much else yet, as the waves of hangover start to wash over me with slow but insistent chills. I stare down at what I can see of the arm wrapped tightly around my waist.

The soft, flowing curve of her skin is a welcome, lovely sight…but I don't recognize that arm. Her limb is cold against my stomach—I'm wearing a shirt, but it has ridden up slightly in sleep, which lead to her skin being pressed against mine.

I shiver a little as I take a deep breath, realizing how cold the body is against my back. She is curved against me tightly, spooning me like this is the most natural thing in the world.

Not the most unexpected.

A voice makes a small murmur in her sleep, the tone a low, pleasant growl, and there is finally some spark of recognition.

I take a deep breath.

I recognize that voice.

I remember.

I am in bed with Elsa.

I roll over a little onto my side and turn to look at her over my shoulder.

Elsa Mills is, thankfully, still fast asleep as my head spins and I try, desperately, to make sense of what might have happened to me last night. Elsa is wearing a white tank top that shows off her sculpted, muscular shoulders, drawing my eyes down her lithe, long frame.

I bite my lip as I breathe out softly, taking in the closeness of her, the sharp, chill scent of her skin and the lingering sweet smoke of the cigars she likes.

My eyes travel her length, even as my mind tries to grapple with why I am here. I try, desperately, to remember.

In sleep, Elsa doesn't look nearly as hard as she is when awake, with her sarcastic, sideways smile, and her eyes narrowed as she delivers scathing one-liners.

Here, asleep, her face is softer, her long lashes resting gently against her cold, pale cheekbones.

Those lashes flutter just then, as if she's having a dream. Her soft lips are parted, her breath coming in a low, easy rhythm, breath that carries that sweet, lingering tobacco.

My blood is starting to pound even quicker through me. Frankly, Elsa looks gorgeous lying there. Gorgeous and…disheveled. Her long, shiny, blonde hair lay tousled around her face.

Maybe she tossed and turned a lot during the night.

Or maybe we'd slept together?

Blood rushes to my cheeks as I consider that possibility.

God, I honestly can't remember, and this is crazy.

Why the hell can't I remember if I'd slept with this gorgeous creature?

Okay.

I take a deep breath, wrack my brains while my pulse roars through me and I try desperately to remember absolutely everything I can about the previous evening.

There had been the cocktail party last night—complete with me wearing that ridiculous maid outfit that Elsa had commissioned for the servers to wear. The poufy, frilly, too-short-for-anyone dress is now hanging off the edge of the foot bedpost.

I pluck at the thin fabric covering my chest. I must be wearing one of Elsa's tank tops, because it certainly isn't mine. I tug it down a little over my underwear as I stare over my shoulder at Elsa again with a small grimace.

I'm, of course, not wearing pants.

Just underwear.

But I am still wearing underwear… Think, Emma!

I remember Regina telling me I should stay at the Mills Hotel. With cold dread, I remember her indifference as she'd turned away from me. Of her piercing brown eyes that pinned me to the spot when she found me and Elsa together, Elsa's arms wrapping around me as she leaned closer, as our mouths met. Regina had found Elsa and me locked in an embrace…and kissing.

I sigh and run a hand through my long, tangled blonde hair as I piece the previous night together, dread beginning to grow in me.

There is no specific reason for that dread. After all, I can stay at the Hotel now, Danielle be damned. She couldn't tell me to leave because Regina had overruled her, and Regina—as owner of the Mills Hotel—certainly had the last word.

So this meant at least—for the time being—my job is secured.

But the dread grows in me as I remember Regina's grave face in profile, turning away from Elsa and me, Elsa who was possessively gripping my hips with her long, cold fingers, her mouth at my neck.

Did I sleep with Elsa last night?

Okay, get a grip, I think to myself, willing my heartbeat to slow down, and concentrating on making my breathing more regular.

I've only been terribly, painfully, absurdly drunk about three or four times in my life (I'd been pretty boring in college—I wasn't the party girl type—and then I'd gotten together with Anna, who'd never been much of a drinker), and each of those times, I'd still been able to remember what I'd been up to that previous night. Certainly, I'd wake up the next morning with the most killer headache imaginable, and a stomach that wanted me dead, but at least I'd remember what had happened to me.

I take a deep breath, calming my racing heart and the panic that is rising in me. The anxiety sheds off of me like petals as I take some long, deep, cleansing breaths and as my head slowly began to clear, as I began to relax, it was then—of course—that I remember.

I remember Elsa walking me back to her room, my arm around her shoulder, because after the party had died down and I'd taken the drink trays down to the kitchen, I'd helped myself to the remaining wine in the bottles.

Ruby had told me that the Mills' didn't mind, that they encouraged their employees to partake of everything that was left over from their meetings, get togethers or parties. And that included partaking of as much of the leftover booze that I could stomach.

And because I'd been upset about the situation with Regina and Elsa and Danielle, and what I'd been through that day…I'd had my fair share of that wine. The problem with all of that is that I'm really not the best at holding wine.

So after a couple of deep glasses last night, I'd gotten tipsy and then drunk…terribly drunk, really, as I'd kept playing that look of disappointment on Regina's face over and over again in my mind's eye, and kept pouring myself another glass, even after Ruby told me I should probably stop.

It was a terrible idea, admittedly, to drink when I was that upset, but I'd been too upset to think clearly, and the wine was there, ready to make things just a little softer…and then Elsa had been there, too, appearing out of nowhere in her suit jacket and her sarcastic, gorgeous smile.

And Elsa had helped me to her room.

I think the reason was that the locks are still changed on my door, so, technically, I really didn't have anyplace else to go, and Elsa had wanted to make certain I had someplace.

Or, perhaps, Elsa had just wanted to take me back to her room—and, in all honesty, I had been more than willing to go.

So we went.

Elsa had also helped me out of my absurd maid's outfit, apologizing and chuckling in turns at my outrage over it.

She'd gently pulled me into one of her old tank tops because I was so sore from serving drinks and carrying the heavy drink trays all night that I could hardly get my hands over my head (and, admittedly, too drunk to find the arm holes in the tank top).

I don't remember Elsa's fingers lingering on my skin—it had been done discretely and kindly, her helping me out of that dress and into a shirt, even though I'd been naked in front of her, practically, even though I'd tripped as I'd stepped out of the dress and fallen against her.

She'd helped me upright, her eyes averted, her cold hands at my waist. I remember that much.

And then Elsa had eased me into bed and curled up behind me, her body tight against mine, her arm still around my waist like she was never letting go.

Now, as I lay in Elsa's bed that morning, Elsa still holding me tightly, I stare up at the barren white ceiling of her bedroom and let out a deep breath that I hadn't even realized I'd been holding.

Now, with a clear head that I hadn't done anything stupid while I was drunk, I considered things.

If I slept with Elsa Mills, I wanted it to mean something. I didn't want it to be some stupid one-night stand, or a drunken, fumbling endeavor that was purely meaningless.

I wanted it to be real, to have build up and emotions and…I wanted a relationship with anyone I slept with. I hadn't been with anyone since Anna. I wasn't about to start meaningless sexual dalliances.

But maybe (just maybe), I was actually ready to start another relationship.

I take a deep breath as Regina's face flashes in my mind's eye again, her piercing eyes staring clearly into mine, her chin up and her mouth in a thin, hard line.

But I shouldn't think about Regina anymore, I remind myself - somewhat painfully.

After all, Regina had made it very clear last night that she didn't want me.

And, anyway, she had Danielle back now, her soul mate. She wasn't alone. She had the woman she'd wanted more than anything else on earth.

There is absolutely nothing holding me to Regina anymore, if there had ever been anything to hold me to her.

I watch Elsa breathing slowly, her soft lips parted as she inhales and exhales with a sensual, constant rhythm. Everything Elsa does is sensual, from the act of taking off her hat to rake her fingers through her hair or when she leans against the wall, hands shoved deeply into her pockets as she broods moodily over something.

She practically exudes raw sensuality, grace, ease…she's magnetic, and it's fairly obvious - at least, I was fairly certain - that with that much charm, Elsa has been with a lot of other women.

Coming from that, I'm not certain about what Elsa necessarily wants with me. But as I watch her sleep, I think about what I want with Elsa.

I bite my lip as my gaze trails down her cheek and chin and neck to the low cut of her tank top and the small rise of her breasts.

Beside me, Elsa makes a little grumbling sound in the back of her throat again as her eyelashes flutter, and then she opens her eyes, blinking slowly as her gaze focuses on me.

And in a single instant, a sardonic smile begins to curl her lips up at the corners, a smile that sends a shiver through me.

"Good morning," she growls to me, and then she slowly leans forward, the bed creaking gently beneath her shifting body, as she presses her cold mouth to my bare shoulder.

A shudder races through me, and my heart starts beating quickly all over again.

Her lips are very cold against my skin, but it's a delicious kind of cold, a kind of cold I crave.

Her fingertips move slowly, but with a determined patience, up and under the hem of my tank top.

My body responds quicker than my heart does. I turn over completely, lying on my back as I stare up at her, my heart pounding at a faster rate than my blood can take.

All I know, in this moment, is need.

And I know, in this moment, that if I respond to that need, I'll be making a mistake.

I am still too upset from last night.

I am hung over.

This is not how I want my first time with Elsa to be.

I bite my lip and her fingers pause. She stares down at me, and I realize that her breath is coming faster, her pupils are darker.

She feels it, too. "I just…I need a little time," I manage to tell her.

"I…I really like you, Elsa," I say quietly, as her dark eyes pin me in place for a moment, as she holds my gaze fiercely.

"But so much has happened in the past few days…I don't know if I'm coming or going."

I lick my lips, feel my own disappointment fill me. But, seriously, I don't want it to be like this. I want to be able to brush my teeth and take a really great shower and smell better than spilled wine and I want it to be sexy, not self conscious… Because I know that I do want this.

I want Elsa.

Regina isn't mine, and she never will be.

And I have to start being all right with that fact.

"Give me a little time?" I whisper, holding her gaze. For a long moment, I honestly don't know what she's going to say.

But then a slow smile begins to turn up the corners of her mouth again, and she nods, raising one eyebrow as she lays back down on the bed beside me.

"Of course," she says, her voice a low growl.

But she keeps her fingers beneath the hem of the tank top.

"I want to try this with you, Emma," she says then, and the joking glint in her eyes is gone, the truth of her as clear as day and visible, flashing in her eyes.

There is so much raw sincerity there.

"Take the time you need," she tells me.

I want to roll over and go up on my elbows over her, run my fingers through her hair, bring my mouth to hers. Everything about Elsa is easy like that.

I fiercely hold on to her gaze and try not to think about Regina's sad expression in profile, try not to think about Regina at all.

It's hard.

Regina's shadow is cast over the possibility of Elsa and me.

But we can still make it work, even though I still have feelings for Regina.

Right?

Elsa's fingers slip out from beneath my shirt, and she traces a line up over the fabric to my face, curling her cool fingers around my chin and drawing me to her.

Her mouth meets mine, and for a long, searing moment, I think about absolutely nothing at all.

Instead, I feel everything.

When we break apart, Elsa holds my gaze for a long moment before she raises a single brow and slides effortlessly out from under the sheet and stands at the side of the bed, stretching overhead slowly.

She's wearing a white tank top and black underwear, and I can't help but stare at her muscled back, at the curve down to her rear.

"Do you…work out?" I ask, realizing even as I said it that it's one of the worst pick up lines ever.

She turns to me actually chuckling, and there is nothing hard about her expression—she is genuinely amused by what I'd just asked.

"I'm a vampire," she says, placing a hand on one hip that she had jutted out, curving it toward me so that I can feel a blush rising in my cheeks.

Her underwear are lace, and I am doing my best not to stare at them.

"Vampires don't work out," she says then, chuckling with a smooth shrug. "We retain the body that we had when we became a vampire," she raises her eyebrows and runs a hand down her arm, over the muscles there.

"I worked in the stables when I was bitten, so I was pretty fit."

She leans forward a little, pressing her hands to the mattress as she bends at the waist, her face close to mine.

"I dressed like a boy," she says then with a sexy smirk. "So I was given men's work to do. And I did it."

I realize as I stared up at her at that moment that I don't really know anything about Elsa. I know she is funny and sarcastic and gorgeous, that we were drawn to each other…but I truly wanted to get to know this enigmatic, charming woman. I wanted to know everything about her.

I realize that for some strange reason…there is something very familiar about Elsa. Though I've never met her in my life, it feels like I know her.

Or have known her.

It's such a strange feeling that I push it away, running a hand through my hair absent-mindedly. I have enough to worry about without thinking something that absurd.

It's obvious that there is no way that I could have ever met Elsa before. I put the thought out of my mind.

"I'm on the schedule for today," I tell her, rolling up and out of the bed, feeling my blush intensify as her eyes make no secret about drifting down over my hardly clothed body.

"Anyway," I mutter, clearing my throat, "I'm supposed to cover the front desk until Ruby takes over at five…" I trail off, bite my lip, and build up my courage.

"Do you want to do something after that?" I ask, clearing my throat again. I cough a little into my hand and try to stand not awkwardly.

It's been a really long time since a woman had seen this much of me. My breasts are almost completely visible in this practically see-through tank top, and I am only wearing a pair of cheeky underwear below.

It's different for Elsa, who is wearing much the same clothes. I don't feel confidant, like her, as I stand there, as this gorgeous vampire's eyes are roving over my body like she is memorizing me.

Elsa leans back on her heels and shrugs elegantly.

"Do you like boats?" she asks me then with a wolfish grin.

"I like boats," I reply, feeling the corners of my mouth turn up. Elsa's smiles are completely infectious.

"Well, I have a nice boat," she says, her smirk deepening.

She softens, then, too as she inclines her head toward me.

"I'd like to show you my boat tonight. After the sun sets. Maybe I could take you out, get some stargazing under our belts? Possibly something else under your belt," she says so softly that I wonder if I'd even heard her right, but then she is moving impossibly fast, and she's standing right there in front of me.

And she's hooking her fingers into the band of my panties. She just hooks them there, like you hook fingers into belt loops.

She's pressed against the front of me, her chill body making my arms break out into goose flesh, even as another shiver races through me.

"That…that sounds like it'd be wonderful," I tell her, and I reach my hands up and wrap my fingers around her waist.

I feel her muscles beneath my palms, and something akin to hunger shoots through me.

"Good. Six o'clock," she says quietly, winking at me before stepping back. "Let's meet out front?

"Sure," I say, and I know that my voice squeaks when I say it, but I manage to run a frazzled hand through my hair and take a deep breath. I smile tentatively at her.

This is all so new to me. I have to carefully not think about Regina, and then things are sort of all right. If I don't think about anything, actually, all of my feelings can just kick in.

Yes. I won't think about things.

"You'll have to speak to Regina about getting your lock changed back," says Elsa quietly then.

And all of my thoughts become, inevitably, about Regina.

"Sure," I say, biting my lip as I turn away from her, picking up my maid's outfit from the foot of the bed. I don't want Elsa to see how even the mere mention of Regina's name affects me.

I pluck at the hem of the too-short dress as I shift it from one arm to the other.

"Um…" I realize, glancing down at the thing and very forcefully pushing all thoughts of Regina from my mind.

"I have to go get dressed, get ready for work," I tell her, holding up the flimsy dress from last night.

"I'll head to Ruby's room, but I can't exactly walk up the stairs or the hallways dressed like…um…" I wave down to myself and the tank top and underwear and make a grimace.

"Why not?" Elsa asks, leaning back against her bedpost with another wicked grin. I raise a single eyebrow as I smile at her, shaking my head.

"All right, all right," she mutters with a low chuckle.

"You can borrow whatever you want," she tells me, indicating her large, antique wardrobe with a sweep of her arm. "

Anyway," she says, glancing at the stark clock on the opposite side of the room. Both plain hands of the clock are pointing to seven.

"I've got to get going," she continues with a soft sigh. "We're having a…well, I suppose a meeting," she says, raising her eyebrow as she peels her tank top up and over her shoulders with absolutely no ceremony.

I blush scarlet and stare down at the wooden floor, but not before I've seen her in her entirety. Her breasts are average, her nipples dark, and every curve of her is perfect.

I feel the floor fall out beneath me, because a war has just broken out inside of me.

I've been trying to ignore it and deny it, but it's broken out all the same. My feelings for Regina are violently and bitterly in battle with my feelings for Elsa.

Both women are so utterly different.

How I'd felt for Anna was nothing like how I feel about Regina, and what I feel for Regina is absolutely nothing of how I feel for Elsa.

I had affectionately and fiercely loved Anna.

And, with Regina, there is a bone-deep knowledge that there is something between us.

But, strangely enough, I feel as if there is something between Elsa and I, too.

It's just…different.

I realize, in that moment, that I am feeling very, very confused. I need to figure out what is happening inside of me, try to sort out these millions of strong feelings and figure out what I really want.

I need time alone to myself, to think. But I'm not going to get that. I have to work.

"Thank you," I tell Elsa, then, taking a deep gulp of air as I realize that I haven't yet thanked her for her offer to let me borrow anything in her wardrobe.

I pull the wide wardrobe doors open and began rummaging through her immaculately hung clothes. Each piece of clothing resided on a separate wooden hanger, and it is as neat as a pin inside, everything hanging in one orderly line.

Unsurprisingly, there are only suits lining the walls of the wardrobe.

Elsa comes up behind me, still completely naked on top and only wearing her lace panties, and pulls the drawer open at the bottom of the wardrobe.

"I have other things in here," she says, crouching down beside me.

I hazard a glance at her, at the sculpted shoulders and narrowing in at her waist that was, at once, so strong and yet so feminine. She is still her powerful self, even without a shirt, but there is also a trace of the vulnerability that she showed when she slept.

I liked that.

I liked to know that there was something soft about her, that she wasn't all aggression and sarcasm all the time. That she could even be softer.

Elsa pulls something dark brown with cream colored stripes out of the bottom drawer and stands up, holding it out to me.

I stare at it in shock. It's actually a dress. A dress that can only be described as girly.

There is not a single moment where I assume that Elsa has ever worn this, or that it actually belongs to her. The only other dress I had ever seen her wear could only be described as sexy or sultry.

"How do you have this?" I ask her, taking the garment and being careful to stare at it and not at her. It is a very pretty dress, perhaps the kind that someone might wear out on a picnic, complete with a thin, matching cream belt that I hadn't seen at first, that dangles from the loops at the sides.

"Well…" she says, and trails off, grabbing a shirt off one of the hangers and tossing it over her shoulders, sliding her arms in and beginning to button herself up at the lowest button.

She is taking it slowly, I realize, as she stares at me unblinkingly with flashing blue eyes.

"Someone…left it," she says softly then, the words barely audible.

Then she straightens her shoulders, finishes buttoning the shirt up to her neck.

"I want to be up front with you about things. This time…" she says, leaning forward and taking my hands in her own cold fingers and drawing them up to clasp them tightly to her heart.

"This time is different," she says the words firmly as she stares into my gaze, pinning me to the spot with a dazzling intensity.

Her body is so cold, even beneath the fabric of her shirt, and I can feel my heart pounding through me as my fingers caress her breast as she cups my hands in her own, holding them to her chest.

She leans down then, brushing her cold mouth over the back of my knuckles before she releases my hands.

The dress has fallen to the floor between us, and I crouch down with unseeing eyes, scooping it back up.

I pull it on over my head, over her tank top, and it falls around me, the edge of the tank top just visible at the neckline of the dress.

"Beautiful," she whispers, stepping forward and brushing her cold lips against my cheek before she walks away, sliding her arms into a suit jacket.

I glance down at the fabric of the dress's skirt, touching that fabric with suddenly cold fingers.

The brown of the dress is the exact same brown as Regina's eyes.

"Thank you," I whisper to Elsa, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear as I move into her bathroom.

I shut the door behind me, gripping the edge of the ornate sink and stare at myself in the mirror.

My reflection stares back at me with wide eyes.

I look confused.

Because I am.


	26. Chapter 26

That night, after a very long, boring time behind the front desk (most of the vampires who were attending the Conference had already checked in, so I was basically manning the desk in case anyone came down to ask a question or needed something. And it's not like vampires need extra washcloths and toothbrushes for their room. At least, none came down and needed these essentials on my watch), I slipped out of the Mills Hotel and into the descending dark of twilight.

And there, leaning on the porch, her cigarette glowing at the end as she took a deep inhale, was Elsa.

"Right on time," she says, flicking the ash off the end of the cigarette as she straightens and smiles at me.

Her long, thin body is wearing the hell out of a pinstripe suit jacket and wide-legged, tailored pants, a plain black tie loose at her neck. Her gaze is intense as she holds mine, but her smile is utterly genuine. She's happy to see me.

I still had yet to worked up the courage to take a break and find Regina that day. I needed to talk to her about getting the lock changed back on my room, but I just couldn't bear the thought of facing her.

Not now.

Not yet.

I'd talked with Ruby, and I was going to camp out on the couch in her room that night, give myself a little more time to come to terms with all this.

Cowardly, I know. But I just feel that if I see Regina right now, when it's still all so new, it'd be more harmful than helpful. I'm still raw inside from the previous night. I don't need to pour salt in that wound _quite yet._

Again, thoughts of Regina swirled inside of me as I return Elsa's smile. I try, valiantly, to push Regina out of my head.

I internally repeat what I'd been telling myself all day: Regina has Danielle, Regina doesn't want me. And that's all right.

But it's not as if I could just flip a switch and turn off all thoughts of her, no matter how hard I tried.

And now, what I was feeling for Elsa is so tangled up in what I felt for Regina. In what I still feel for her. I sigh out into the dark, my breath forming a mist ahead of me in the cold twilight.

Elsa steps forward, her brow furrowed as she cups her cold fingers around my elbow, squeezing gently. "Are you all right?" she asks me, her voice a low growl.

_Not really_, I think to myself.

But I lie to her anyway "yes."

Together, we walk away from the hotel, and toward her Mustang, parked at the far right edge of the almost-full gravel parking lot that sprawls in front of the hotel. I glance back over my shoulder at the massive red building.

The Mills Hotel is so hauntingly beautiful with its columns and stories and bright red stone walls, and I should have known from the moment that I arrived that this building would spell trouble for me.

But it's turning into a nice sort of trouble at least, I think, as Elsa makes an elegant little bow, smirking and pulling the car door open for me.

I fold into the passenger seat, and in an instant, Elsa is seated behind the wheel, flexing her shoulders and wrapping her fingers around the wheel.

"I park the boat at the harbor in town," she tells me, turning the key in the ignition. The engine revs to life. We slide out onto the road, the gravel spinning away from the back wheels as the car moves quickly through the encroaching darkness, down to Storybrooke.

The old trees along the main street of Storybrooke are all decked out in strings of orange lights for Halloween, all of the shops full of window displays featuring witches and werewolves and cauldrons and pumpkins and spiders and coffins. Surprisingly, though every other character or emblem of Halloween is on display in the shop windows…I don't see a single vampire.

"Down this way," Elsa says, parking the Mustang in an empty spot in front of Storybrooke's only liquor store.

The store, "Storybrooke Spirits," is brightly lit and still open—the only shop on the entire main street that is, in fact.

I step up and out of the Mustang and take Elsa's arm when she offers it to me, because—of course—she is almost instantly around the other side of the car. It's such a smooth motion, how she offers me her arm, how I don't even hesitate or think about it. Mine had just slid into hers like we'd done this before.

Then we're walking past the brightly lit liquor store, down to the waterfront. The harbor is so quiet and peaceful at twilight. Even from the dock, you can hear the eerie (and yet, oddly beautiful) cadence of the ship's pulleys hitting their masts, ringing like soft silver bells.

It's a beautiful, haunting music that seems to merge with the water lapping against the pillars of the deck.

Elsa hops down to one of the small rowboats tied to the dock, offering her hand up to me. She helps me down without a word, her hands lingering at my waist, helping me settle onto one of the seats in the rowboat.

She unties the mooring line and pushes off from the dock with her foot, and then we're quietly pulling through the water as she rows us with smooth, even strokes toward the sailboats anchored in the harbor.

There's a rope ladder that hangs down from the side of one of the nearest sailboats, and this is the one that Elsa is aiming for.

The boat itself is mostly white, as are all of the sailboats, but there is a thin line of red that's painted around the edge of the boat, and there on the back end of the boat, are two looping, cursive words.

"_The Song_?" I ask, glancing at Elsa. "Is that your boat?"

"Yes," she says, her jaw working as she pulls the oars again.

She doesn't elaborate on the name.

When we arrive at the boat, Elsa threads the mooring line through the floating anchor, pulling the little rowboat up alongside _The Song_.

She tugs on the rope ladder, drawing the rowboat even closer, and then she inclines her head toward the ladder. "Ladies first," she says with a wolfish grin, and I return the smile, standing uncertainly in the rocking rowboat.

I put out my hand, steadying myself with the ladder, and then I put my foot in the first rung.

Climbing up a rope ladder sounds a lot easier than it actually is, especially in a dress, but I manage to get myself up and into the boat without making too much of a fool out of myself.

Elsa scales the rope ladder like she's been doing it her entire life, and is right behind me and in the boat before I can even blink.

"All right," she says, walking forward to the ship's wheel, and patting the controls that include, I realize, an engine.

"We'll use this to get out," she said, jerking her thumb toward the open water beyond the harbor. "And then it's wind all the way," she says, staring up at the small mast.

She sounds breathless, and more than a little affectionate, as she gazes up at the mast of the boat. She loves this boat, I realize, as I watch her start the motor and grab a hold of the wheel, which isn't really a wheel…it reminds me more of the controls in an airplane.

But as she pushes a lever forward and the ship springs slowly to life, her fingers move over the controls and grip the wheel as gently as you'd grip a lover.

"I've had this boat for about half a century," she says then, yelling a little to be heard over the engine. "It's meant the world to me," she continues, worrying at the edge of her lip, and completely confirming what I'd thought.

"For a time," she says, casting me a sideways glance, "I even slept here, on the boat, rather than in my rooms in the hotel."

"Why?" I ask in surprise.

Elsa grimaces again, her jaw working. "Regina and I…" she says then, wincing as she utters the brunettes name. "We've not always seen eye to eye," she finishes gravely.

"Do you care to elaborate?" I ask, leaning against the boat's railing as I raise a single eyebrow. She casts me a wry smile and shakes her head.

"Not really," she says, turning the boat a little so that it maneuvers between two smaller anchored ships. And then we're out into the almost still waters of the open ocean, the sunset behind us, over the land, painting the sky soft, muted purples, bright banks of orange and gold topping off the sky. It's breathtaking.

But that still doesn't distract me from the fact that Elsa is being purposefully evasive.

"You know, I fell in love with someone once," she says, then.

She is so quiet that I almost can't hear her over the roar of the engine, but I inch forward, mesmerized, and stand right next to her. She has a faraway look in her eye as she gazes out to sea, but then she shakes her head and glances at me.

"I loved her utterly," she says with a sad smile and a shrug, "but Regina loved her, too, and I never had a chance. I tried, believe me. We both did. But she wanted Regina."

The wind that roars past us, brought on by the swiftness of the boat, tosses her words away from me as I wrap my arms around myself again and lean against her.

"I'm sorry," I tell her. "That's hard. There's no winning in that."

She glances down at me again, her features softening as she wraps an arm around my waist, pulling me closer.

"It doesn't matter anymore. I've spent so much of my life trying to forget her, and it was so much harder to do that than I thought it should be. But I've forgotten her now. Because I'm getting a chance with you."

I gaze up at Elsa with wide eyes, tasting the salt of the ocean, and—in that moment—tasting Elsa as she leans down and gently brushes her lips over mine. The sailboat turns, and we begin to make our way up the coast.

With Elsa's strong arm around my waist (and my arm wrapping around hers, too), I don't notice the cold of the air so much.

Not that Elsa is warm, she's practically freezing to the touch, but there's just something about having her hold on to me so tightly.

I feel warm, even though I'm not.

Ahead, through the darkness, rises the Mills Hotel. The moon is edging out from behind clouds overhead—a gibbous moon that hangs, almost full, on the surface of the cloud bank. It sheds enough light to perfectly see the hotel by, and from the ocean, it's an even more impressive structure.

The massive building sprawls up on the cliff face like something out of a horror novel, with its red stone walls that, in the moonlight, looked almost bloody.

"Home sweet home," Elsa remarks with a wry chuckle. She groans then and rolls her shoulders back, stretching overhead. "Honestly, I can't wait for this Conference to be over. I'm used to being mostly by myself, having more independence…I have to be nailed down to all of these terrible meetings every moment of every day about things I just don't care about." She sighs out for a long moment and then begins to brake the boat slowly.

She turns off the ignition once the boat is still. "I've never cared about most of the things that Regina cares about," says Elsa then, a snarl almost in her voice.

I glance at her in surprise.

"She wants this whole nicey-nice vampire culture," Elsa mutters, taking off her suit jacket and laying it over the captain's chair situated behind the wheel.

"She's trying to gather together all of the vampires who care about humans. But there aren't honestly that many of them. No offense," she tells me with a grimace as gooseflesh begin to appear on my arms. It's so strange to hear her talk about humans like that…like she wasn't one. Which…she probably wasn't anymore, since she is a vampire now.

It's still a little surreal.

"So…vampires mostly don't like humans?" I ask, feeling the discomfort move through me.

Elsa glances sharply my way. "Well. That's a nice way of putting it, I suppose," she says and sighs, gesturing overhead. "But let's not talk about stuff like this."

"It's kind of important that I know, really, considering where I'm working right now," I point out stubbornly.

Elsa folds her arms in front of her, her mouth forming into a thin, stubborn line, just visible by the faint remnants of light along the horizon.

"Bluntly put, most vampires wish that humans were enslaved into nice, easy blood bank type facilities."

I stare at her.

Elsa shrugs. "But it's nothing for you to worry about. There aren't that many vampires out there. But there are fringe groups that are actually vying for that future of enslaved humanity. The Mills' represent the polar opposite. Every one of the Mills' believe that human beings, what we evolved from, deserve to live out their lives and be protected. It's not a popular opinion among our kind, but at least most vampires don't care one way or another. It's the love of humanity that's banded our family together…Well. After the love of women, of course," she says, her lips tugging up at the edges.

"So…wow," I say, and then my legs buckle under me, and I sit down in the captain's chair, stunned.

I blink up at her. "Wow," I repeat, suddenly at a loss for words.

Elsa shrugs again. "Honestly, it's nothing to worry about. The factions of vampires who want to subjugate humans are fringe groups. Just like the KKK in humanity…it's not a lot of people who think that way, just a very few, thankfully. It's the same with the vampires."

"That's still kind of terrifying," I mutter, rubbing at my arms and shivering.

Elsa kneels down in front of me smoothly, searching my eyes as she covers my hands with gentle fingers. "Are you all right?" she asks.

"Not really," I answer her truthfully, searching her gaze. "Tell me the truth: are there vampires from that fringe group who want to enslave the human race at the Conference? At the hotel right now?"

"Yes," she says instantly, her jaw working. "But there are treaties in effect that they cannot break, and none would be stupid enough to do so. If the treaties put in place during the Conference are broken, the vampire or vampires who break them are put to death. There is no trial, no excuse. There would never be any violence committed by vampires during the Conference—the punishment is too immovable and swift."

"Well that makes me feel a little better," I mutter, rubbing absent-mindedly at the back of my neck and taking a deep breath.

"Come," Elsa says then with a small smile, standing and holding tightly to my hands as she pulls me up. "Come look at the stars."

There's so much light pollution on land, that—even if you're camping at one of the most remote places—there's a lot of starlight that's lost to the omnipresent brightness of civilization. But out here, on the ocean, even though we aren't that far out from shore, the cascade of stars overhead immediately takes my breath away, as I look up.

The long, bright line of the Milky Way practically pulses with starlight, and as I stare overhead, my mouth open in awe, Elsa wraps her arm tightly around my waist, and I feel my body drawn to hers, leaning back against her.

"Elsa, it's beautiful," I manage to whisper to her. I feel her chest rumble in a chuckle behind me, and then she brushes her cold mouth to the top of my head.

"Not nearly as beautiful as you," she quips then.

I feel the blush rising in me, and then I'm turning of my own accord toward her, pressing myself against her, wrapping my arms around her waist.

Behind Elsa I can see the Mills Hotel, rising above us on the cliff face, and the long stretch of beach beneath the hotel glimmering in the moonlight. It's almost as bright as day because of the starlight and moonlight that is pouring over us, and every little thing is visible and bright.

As I reach up to kiss Elsa, as I feel drawn and pulled to her, my eyes flit to the distant shore and the sliver of glowing beach behind her, for only a heartbeat.

And I can feel my heart skip a beat at that moment.

Because there is a figure on the beach, head bent, making her way across the sand. Someone slowly walking in the moonlight. Their long curly hair gently blowing in the breeze.

There are hundreds of people checked into the hotel right now, and the figure on the beach could have been any one of them.

But I know it's Regina.

* * *

_**A/N: Hey guys, sorry for the long wait and shorter chapter but I figured you would all prefer a smaller update over none at all. Review and let me know what you thought and what you think may happen! **_

_**XoXoX - TheLoveOfApples**_


	27. Chapter 27

**_A/N:_****_ This is a super short update, but I didn't want to leave you guys hanging after the last one. There'll be one more update sometime later today, and I promise to have some actual interaction between our two favorite ladies soon!_**

* * *

_But I know it's Regina..._

She's alone, walking the beach like she always does, lost deep in thought.

At that moment, as if she feels my eyes on her, the distant figure on the beach pauses and stops at the edge of the water. She turns toward us.

And though we are pretty far from the beach, I know that Regina sees us, sees Elsa and me out on the water together, in each other's arms.

I shouldn't have cared. But, in that moment, I did.

I feel my heart split into two pieces. I don't know what to do, but I feel my body react, and I just let it do what it needs to do. I step away from Elsa.

She glances at me in surprise, still holding onto my hands. Her head tilts to the side quizzically, and then she glances over her shoulder, at the shore I can't help but stare at.

At Regina.

"Emma," she says then heavily, turning back to me with a quick shake of her head. "What—"

But I make a decision in that moment, my heart aching so savagely inside of me that I want to double over from the pain. But I don't.

"It's nothing," I tell her, biting my lip, my words tense and sharp.

I step closer to her again, and—almost aggressively—I wrap my arms around her waist.

I reach up, curl my fingers around the back of her neck, and I draw her down to me for a kiss.

She tastes of cigarette smoke and coffee, her lips soft and cool to the touch, her kiss utterly sensual and irresistible. She drinks me in deeply, and my body responds as I carefully shut down my thoughts.

All I want to do is feel. And for a long moment, that strategy works.

I don't think about Regina at all as I kiss Elsa, and I don't dare look over Elsa's shoulder again, to see what the woman on the shore is doing. I focus wholly and utterly on Elsa, and I kiss her deeply.

But when we brake apart, when Elsa searches my gaze questioningly, I can't clamp down on the thoughts anymore, and one lone one finds its way into my heart: ...Regina.

And the pain in Regina's face as she had turned away from us only last night.

What am I doing? I feel so much for Regina, and I'm trying so hard with Elsa.

I can't feel both of these things at once, not if I'm to remain loyal to Elsa.

And I need to remain loyal to her. She deserves that much.

Am I utterly doomed to be unhappy forever?

Why can't I just stay in the moment, concentrate utterly on Elsa? Why does Regina keep coming up when I know that I can never have her, that we could never be together?

I'm torturing myself, and I'm becoming very quickly frustrated with myself as well.

Overhead, the Mills Hotel sits impassive on the cliff, life moving through it and within its walls, but not touching its cold, immovable stone. This far out to sea, the building crouches, silent, brooding and uncaring.

The stars overhead are just as cold. And in front of me, Elsa's body is chill to the touch. I hold her hand tightly. I try to pull my focus away from the shore.

Regina, a dark, distant silhouette on the glowing beach, turns and curves away from me as she walks back from the way she came, disappearing from view behind a dune.

* * *

_**A/N: Don't forget to review, they really do encourage me to write more :)**_

_**XoXoX - TheLoveOfApples**_


	28. Chapter 28

"How can we be out of milk?" I ask Ruby. I almost follow that up with _I didn't think vampires drank milk_, but I stopped myself just in time. Ruby still doesn't know what, exactly, our employers are. And it is probably best for her if it's kept that way. At the very least, it's less stressful assuming you're working for human beings.

"Molly gave me the list, and it says we're out of milk," Ruby says with a shrug, tossing me a small notebook that bears our cook's writing across the top: Kitchen Notes.

"And you've been pretty mopey today, so I thought you'd like to go grocery shopping with me, get you out of the hotel. Because we could totally stop by the coffee shop…" Ruby trails off, cocking her head to the side as she wrinkles her nose and takes me in.

"I mean, it's your day off, Emma…don't tell me you're just going to stay in here?" She gestures to the walls of her room.

"It's not like I don't like having you in here every minute that you're not working…" she says, spreading her hands with a brow raised. "But you definitely need some outdoor time. Or…something."

She purses her lips and puts her hands on her hips. "I mean, it's gorgeous out. It's the perfect fall day. You shouldn't waste it."

I shrug a little, playing with the hem of my sweater.

Its true: I am in a bad mood today. Ruby is being utterly wonderful, letting me stay in her room, but it isn't the biggest room in the world, and she's right: every moment I'm not working I'm in here.

I know my best friend values her alone time. But I still haven't worked up the courage to go see Regina about getting my lock changed.

I had somewhat hoped that it would just happen all by itself without any interference from me, that Regina would remember that I needed it changed back and would order it done.

That way, I could avoid seeking her out. I could avoid talking to her. I could avoid seeing her.

Okay, so that is totally cowardly. I admit it. But every single time I think about Regina, my heart breaks all over again.

I can't really imagine what would happen if I saw her face to face, if I saw that sorrow in her expression, in her dark brown eyes as she gazes at me, seeing to the very deepest parts of me.

God, this is such a mess.

"What about Elsa? Why aren't you with her today?" Ruby asks innocently, sitting down on the couch next to me.

I draw my legs up under my skirt and sigh. "She's in a meeting for the Conference all day. We're going to do something together tonight," I tell her.

"Like what?" She draws out the words, her brows raised.

I shrug. "I'm not sure. Maybe another boat ride. It was really nice last night, out on the water," I tell her, which was the truth.

But the beauty and majesty of the evening and the countless number of stars overhead had been somewhat dampened by my spotting Regina on the beach. And, immediately, being unable to control the strong feelings that surged through me at seeing her.

"Come to Storybrooke with me," Ruby says in a strong tone that brooks no argument. She gets up quickly, and stretches overhead.

"Seriously. You can't stay cooped up in here all day. You're making me feel all antsy. And two people grocery shopping is so much faster than one," she cajoles, waggling her brows at me as she chuckles.

When I raise a single brow at her and smile, she goes for the kill: "I'll buy you a pumpkin latte," she sings.

At that point, I just felt silly.

My best friend is doing everything in her power to make me feel better, and is letting me stay in her room because I can't work up the courage to speak to our boss. Which was utterly ridiculous of me.

I can manage a trip to town. It's the least I could do.

"Okay, okay," I chuckle, rising. "How can I refuse a pumpkin latte?"

"I thought you were going to say how could you refuse me?" she asks with a small pout, but then Ruby chuckles and wraps her arms around my shoulders, squeezing tightly before taking a step back.

"Do me a big favor before we head out?" she asks. The words re purposefully light and innocent, and my eyes narrowed at that.

"What?" I ask.

"Can you talk to Regina about switching your lock back? Or giving you a key to your room?" she asks. Her brows are raised, but she's very carefully watching my expression, waiting for my reaction.

It's stupid that I hadn't already asked her for these things—it should have been the first thing I did after Regina told me that she'd spoken with Danielle and that I could stay.

I know it's ridiculous that I haven't asked her yet.

But still, when Ruby speaks the word Regina, my stomach drops away from me.

But I need my room back.

It isn't fair to Ruby.

"Yeah," I say, keeping my voice light. "Of course I can do that," I smile at her, realizing how fake it probably looks, but I'm doing the best I can.

"Why don't you get dressed?" I ask, gesturing to her pajamas, "and I'll meet you downstairs at the front desk? Regina's probably still in her office getting ready for the meeting," I say, hazarding a guess.

I don't know exactly where she was, but it's as good a place as any to start looking for her. And if she isn't in her office, at least I could say that I'd tried to find her.

"I'll talk to her," I say, my tongue suddenly dry.

I clear my throat, pressing my already sweating palms against my jeans.

I can do this.

I move quickly out of Ruby's bedroom and down the spiral staircase before I can change my mind.

I walk past vampires milling in the hallways, socializing and meeting on the landings as they congregate around the comfortable couches set up there as social areas.

Some of them flick their eyes to me, but I purposefully do not look their way, and as I walk down the floors, moving toward Regina's office, I become more and more lost in my thoughts and worries and less paying attention to my surroundings.

I'll knock on Regina's door only once, I decide. And if I don't hear anything inside the room in a heartbeat (or so), I'll turn around and make my way immediately back up to Ruby's bedroom, and I can tell her that I'd tried, but there'd been no one there.

Hey, it's a cowardly plan, admittedly, but at least I'm going to try.

When I reach Regina's office, I stop at the door, raising my hand to the antique wood.

But all of my plans crumble in that moment, because I hear a low, muted woman's voice inside. There was someone in there.

Regina.

I press my palm flat to the door, feel the wood beneath my already too-warm skin as I feel the blush erupt over my body.

I take a deep breath, every inch of me shaking.

And then I curl my hand into a fist, lifted it from the wood and knock once, quietly against the door.

There's silence from the other side for a heartbeat.

I hear the sound of a phone being set back into its cradle as a call is ended.

And then comes the smooth, soft growl: "come."

That single word knocks the breath out of me, makes every atom in my body turn toward her.

Because it's Regina's voice on the other side of that door.

I take a deep breath, steading myself against the door knob as I somehow find a few more scraps of courage inside of me.

And then I open the door, letting myself into the dark room.

I shut the door behind me, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dark for a moment.

Her scent assaults me, the intoxicating, cool perfume of cinnamon, vanilla and spice. It seems to merge with the old wood of the walls and desk, the pungent aroma of old books that lines the walls behind her.

"Emma." The single word comes from the darkness, from the other side of the room.

And that single word breaks my heart.

* * *

**_A/N: Soooo I may do one more update tonight, if that's okay with all of you? lol _**

**_School is starting back up again and I really need to focus on that and I may not have time for many updates this semester, so I'm going to try to get out as many as I can now._**

**_Don't forget to let me know what you thought!_**

**_XoXoX - TheLoveOfApples_**


	29. Chapter 29

Regina's voice was low and strong, but in that single syllable, the syllable of my name, her voice broke at the end.

It's almost inaudible, how her voice cracked, but the room is so still and quiet, I hear it anyway.

Her voice, normally so throaty and low and strong, had broken. On my name.

My eyes adjust, and I take in the broad, antique desk, take in the woman seated behind it. She's wearing a tight black dress. Her long, wavy, dark-chocolate hair is pulled back into a severe ponytail, and her dark eyes are piercing me through as she rises slowly, ascending like an angel as she stands, straight and tall, one hand gripping the edge of the desk like she needs to hold tightly to it in order to keep from collapsing.

She stares at me, and her mouth turns down, softly and slowly, into a frown.

"Emma," she repeats softly and licks her lips.

For a long moment, she says nothing else.

"What can I do for you?" she asks then, her voice gentle.

I stare at her, trying to take a deep breath, my heart pounding inside of me.

It can't be like this, every time we see one another. We live in the same house, and it's a very big house, but she's my boss, and I'm her employee, and that means we'll have to see each other often.

And it can't be like this every time.

I'll go crazy if it is.

I take a deep breath, straighten my shoulders, and look past her gaze, at the bookshelf behind her.

This is marginally easier if I don't look at her.

"The lock on my door...Danielle changed it when she wanted me to leave the hotel…could it be changed back, since I'm...since I'm staying? Or could I get the keys to the one that was put in? I'm staying with Ruby right now, but I think I'm crowding her," I say, surprised at how calm my voice sounds.

My gaze flicks back to her, and I hope that she can't see in the dark how my eyes rove over her body.

We are about ten feet apart, but it's obvious to me, in that moment, that even that distance isn't enough. I can feel the pull of her body tugging me closer, and it's taking every single ounce of strength within me to resist that pull.

I'm drawn to her like the tides are pulled to shore. I don't understand why, and in that moment, I hate it.

I wanted this to be simple—I wanted to be able to come to her with a simple request like a key to my room.

But even this is complicated, this simple standing, ten feet apart.

I want to taste her, I realize, as I stare at her, as I stare at her full lips, downturning into a frown at the mere sight of me.

And I'll never be able to taste her again.

We stand like that, tense and hard, each body curling away from the other, tension crackling between us like electricity racing through a wire.

"Yes," she says heavily, finally.

She pulls open the top drawer next to her, and takes out a key ring that contains two brass keys.

"I'm sorry for all this trouble," she says then, the words low and long.

She breathes out, holding the keys out to me in the palm of her hand.

I don't want to cross that space between us to stand in front of her. I don't want to hold out my hand to her, to chance the moment that skin might brush against skin.

I have self control, I have strength, but this is something outside those bounds.

The want and the need that roars through me, the tug of gravity that is Regina, standing behind the desk, is otherworldly.

I take a step forward.

Two.

I take three and four, and then I'm standing right in front of the desk.

I'm shaking, as I hold out my hand to her.

Regina takes a deep breath, staring down at that hand, and then she sets the keys on top of the desk.

She reaches out with long fingers, and she curls them around my wrist so softly and gently that when her skin touches mine, I almost cry out.

Because it's almost painful, when her skin meets mine.

There is such a jolt of longing that roars through me that I feel faint.

My breathing intensified, my heart roaring inside of me, and then somehow, impossibly, Regina is bending to me, bending forward in a soft, sweeping bow.

She turns my hand over, and curving forward with cold grace, she presses her cool mouth to my palm.

"Please don't," I whisper, and then she's was gazing up at me from that position, bent elegantly forward, her mouth against my palm.

Her piercing gaze holds me to the spot, and there is such a shocking amount of desire in that gaze, such power in those two brown eyes, that I feel my resolve peel away from me like petals.

I want to crawl across the desk for her, wrap my arms around her, savagely pull her to me and kiss her like I'd never kissed anyone before.

Like this is the first and best kiss of my entire life.

Her body calls to me, and my own answers. And there is nothing to be done about any of it.

But I resist.

And she does, too, because she regretfully straightens, curling her body upward and away from me like it something she wishes she didn't have to do.

"I'm sorry," she says, the words pain-filled and husky.

She picks up the keys and sets them in my palm, and her fingers linger as I stand there woodenly, my eyes filling with tears.

I don't understand what this is between us.

I don't understand why I am so drawn to her.

But I am.

She is everything that I've ever wanted, the woman that I have dreamed of my entire life. In that single moment, I had somehow betrayed Elsa, I knew.

But with Elsa, I was betraying Regina.

Wasn't I?

I stare at her in confusion, my eyes filling with tears. I hold my breath, willing the tears to stop, but a single hot drop spills out of my right eye and traces its way down my cheek.

I couldn't hold it in anymore.

"What are you doing to me?" I ask then, brokenly, holding the keys tightly to my chest, curling my fingers tightly around the freezing metal.

"Why are you doing this?" I ask, the words breaking at the ends.

"Please, Emma," she whispers, her voice shaking as she braces herself against the edge of the desk. Her gaze rakes over me and then she fixes her eyes to the top of her desk.

She'd looks so hunted.

"I would rather die than hurt you," she whispers.

"You are hurting me," I tell her.

We stare at one another, then.

She shakes her head, her violently dark eyes closed to me. When she opens them, she stares at the surface of her desk again.

She doesn't look at me.

"Please," she says then, taking a quavering, deep breath. "Please go. I'm sorry."

I turn on my heel, and somehow I find the strength to make my way across the room, to open the door and to push my body out of it.

I stumble down the hallway, and I find a restroom, it's heavy oaken door hardly able to be opened, but I manage to tug it toward me, and I let myself into the old restroom, holding myself up against the cold tile wall.

This is crazy.

There is something between Regina and I that defies conventional ideas, that defies what I'd thought the world could be like.

It's uncontrollable, the connection between us, and somehow—impossibly—it has to be controlled.

If I am going to begin a relationship with Elsa, I have to commit to her one hundred percent.

I have never cheated, and I won't ever cheat, but there is such a draw to Regina that it seems almost impossible for me to halt the maddening crescendo of need that I feel for that woman.

I take a deep breath.

I just have to concentrate on Elsa. I have to concentrate on Elsa wholeheartedly, and then maybe…maybe I could forget about Regina.

I laugh at myself in that moment, laugh as tears trace their way down my cheeks.

How could I ever hope to forget the maddening, gorgeous woman when our paths would cross, every single day?

This is all so impossible and pain-filled. But, somehow, I have to keep going.

I wash my face carefully with cold water in the sink, drying it on the paper towels from the dispenser as I stare at my reflection in the mirror.

I take a couple more deep breaths, and then I leave the restroom, pasting a pleasant expression on my face and find my way back to Ruby's room.

"Mission accomplished," I tell her, my voice cracking a little at the end, but I bite my lip and try a smile as I hold out my hand with the key ring in the center of my palm.

"Great, right?" I asked her.

She's drying her hair from the shower she's just taken, and she looks suspicious as she stares at me with a single brow raised, but she nods, folding the towel over the ends of her hair that are already curling.

"Yeah, that's good," she says, frowning. She pauses. "Emma, are you all right?"

"Fine," I lie again.

It's becoming a regular occurrence, these lies, but I take another deep breath and attempt a smile.

We drive together down to Storybrooke and find the only grocery store situated off the main road. It's called Samuel White's Grocery, and looks like it's existed in Storybrooke for longer than the town has.

It's also tiny - though well stocked and maintained, I thought, what with having worked at a grocery store for many, many years, I was bound to notice these things - but it doesn't need to have exotic ingredients.

The shopping list isn't that long or extensive. We were only apparently out of milk and pancake mix - it's an almost amusing idea to me, the thought of vampires ever eating pancakes. I would assume that the pancake mix was mostly for the Sullivan Hotel's staff of humans - and lettuce and tomatoes.

By the time we're loading up the car with our grocery purchase for the hotel, it's already late afternoon, and we take a quick detour to the coffee shop, ordering our lattes to go.

"I need batteries for my camera," Ruby says thoughtfully as she blows on the surface of her latte, the steam curling up around her already too-curly hair.

"For the dance on Friday!" she says with a wink. "It needs to be documented, all of that fanciness. I even ordered a dress online. I think you'll like it, it's a little off the shoulder number—"

I was off in my own little world at that point, but this statement brings me back to reality. "You ordered a dress?" I interrupt her, blinking. "Why?"

"We're all going to the dance, Emma," she says, her brows rising. "Everyone in Storybrooke is talking about it—everyone in the whole town is going. Not much happens around here, so Regina made the dance open to the public. And that includes us."

I stare at her with an open mouth.

My first thought is that all of the townsfolk of Eternal Cove would be vulnerable to vampire attack…but then I remember (for the millionth time) that the treaty for the Conference is in place, and that the vampires couldn't hunt while they were here.

But the reason I clung to that thought is because the next one was so painful that it was beginning to make my heart actually hurt: I'd have to go.

And Regina would be there.

And it would be unbearable.

"Well," I say, glancing at the barista who is still making my latte. He was pumping the whipped cream on top, currently.

"We don't all have to go."

She purses her lips, huffing out a small sigh.

"You don't want to go." It wasn't a question.

I run my hand through my hair, taking a deep breath.

"There's no reason for me to show up," I tell her, taking the latte from the barista.

Outside, it's beginning to darken, autumn storm clouds roiling along the edges of the horizon again. It was a stormy autumn that they had in Maine, but it seemed to be much worse, concentrated as it was around Storybrooke. It matched my mood perfectly.

"I mean, it'd be a great date for you and Elsa to go on," Ruby says innocently, raising her eyes as we both turn and make our way toward the coffee shop door.

"Trust me," she says with a slight eye roll," you're going to be very bored for good date spots pretty soon. In all of Storybrooke, there's this coffee shop, the tiny movie theater that gets one new movie once a month, and an Italian diner. You're going to be wishing for opportunities like this in about a month. And you know how far Portsmouth is."

"I don't think I'm going to tire of Eternal Cove's dating options," I mutter, worrying my finger at the rim of the to-go lid. I trace the recycling symbol pressed there.

"It's just…the problem is Regina, Ruby. It's really hard with Regina being there. And, I assume, since she owns the hotel that she's going to be at the dance." I take a deep breath and shake my head. "I don't think I can be in the same room as her for a while."

My best friend gazes at me with raised eyebrows. "I thought it was all Elsa all the time now," she says flatly.

"God, you make me sound so flippant," I mutter, feeling an ache roar through my bones. I'm not flippant. I'm confused, and those were two very, very different things.

"You're not flippant," says Ruby soothingly. "I just don't think you know what you want."

"That's not true. I want Regina," I blurt out, "but I can't have her."

We'd made our way out to the coffee shop steps, and Ruby pauses now, staring at me with wide eyes. It was true, I realized as I took a deep breath. It was utterly true.

"Emma," says Ruby quietly, searching my eyes as she leans forward and grips my arm, "Regina has Danielle now. You wouldn't…you wouldn't ask Regina to cheat on her?" she asks, her voice almost a whisper now.

"That's horrific," I mutter, tears filling my eyes. "How can you even ask me that? No," I reply, after a deep breath. "I would never do that."

"Then what are you going to do?" she asks me quietly, searching my gaze.

"I mean, what choice do I have, Ruby?" I ask her, gripping my cup so tightly that the lid pops off. I push it back down all around the rim as we walk back to the van. I take an impulsive sip of my far-too-hot latte.

"I'm going to be miserable, and I'm going to try to forget what I want, and I really like Elsa," I tell her too quickly, stumbling over the words. "And that's enough to help me try and forget."

God, it sounds so terrible, saying those words out loud. But it's the truth, whether I wanted it to be or not.

"I'm not using Elsa," I say fast, glancing sidelong at Ruby. "I mean…I feel like I've known Regina all my life, and I feel that way with Elsa, too. It's different, but I still do care about her. I think I could grow to love her," I say softly. "It's just…it's just not like it is with Regina."

Ruby unlocks Moochie's doors and hops up into her van. She shrugs a little, shoving the key into the ignition. "It doesn't have to be this complicated, Emma. I understand that you had a thing for Regina, but you never actually did much with her, and now Elsa's all over you. I don't understand why you're throwing something so good to the wind."

I climb up into her van, too, feeling hurt. There is no way that I can possibly explain what I feel for Regina to Ruby. It'd sound too esoteric or gushy or weird.

We have a connection really didn't cover everything I feel for Regina. What Ruby said is true—but my feelings aren't lying.

"I'm not throwing anything away," I say softly. "I know what I have with Elsa, and that's why I'm going on dates with her, and…and…" I splutter, working my hand in a circle as I try to explain myself.

I'm so frustrated at how I can't articulate the connection I feel with Regina, and I'm frustrated that I can't properly convey to my best friend that I'm not taking advantage of Elsa.

I do care about her, it just isn't how I care about Regina.

But I could get there with Elsa. Couldn't I?

Ruby starts the engine and noses the van out onto the rush-hour traffic of the main street. Which mostly consists of three other vehicles idling at the stoplight with us and nothing else.

It 's already starting to get dark as we turn the nose of the van toward the hotel, beginning up the steep road toward the top of the hill that it sits on.

Ruby grits her teeth and mutters an expletive under her breath.

I glance at her in surprise, but she's looking in her rear view mirror.

"Some jackass is riding me," she mutters, pushing Moochie's gas pedal down as far as it can go. The van still ran pretty well for an old clunker, but it could only do so much, especially on such a steep incline.

We're going twenty-five miles an hour, and the van's engine is roaring. This is the absolute best it's capable of. I glance in my side mirror. The vehicle behind is was a large Hummer.

It's already too dark to make out the driver or the passenger, but then it no longer matters, because the driver floors his Hummer (which was much better equipped to deal with sharp inclines than Ruby's poor van), and swerves around us to pass us.

"About time," Ruby mutters, letting off on the gas a little to let the guy pass.

But he doesn't pass.

"Ruby," I begin, turning to look at her, intent on saying something else entirely, but I don't remember what that is… Because, instead, I scream as the Hummer broadsides us.

Ruby had been driving with only her left hand on the wheel. With the weight—and force—of the Hummer smashing into the side of the van, the wheel goes spinning...and so does the van.

* * *

**_A/N: Please don't hate me (covers face with hands) lol I promise there is a happy SwanQueen ending on the way!_**

**_Let me know what you thought!_**

**_XoXoXo - TheLoveOfApple_**


	30. Chapter 30

_**A/N: Surprise! Yet another update! Enjoy!**_

* * *

We were at a hairpin turn in the road, and the van immediately tumbles off the side of it. Because Moochie is heavy it doesn't go too far, though. We're only in the ditch, the seat belts pinning us to the seats, Ruby staring at the ceiling in a daze.

The driver's side door is crushed inward, but Moochie had been built like a tank—Ruby must have hit her head, but there isn't any blood.

I was fine.

Pure instinct and adrenaline take over as I snap out of my seat belt.

"Ruby?" I whisper, then say it a bit louder, shaking her arm just a little. Ruby blinks blearily and turns her head to glance at me.

Down the road, the Hummer had pulled over. I can see both the driver's side door and the passenger door opening and shutting, and two people running toward us in Moochie's headlights. At least they had the decency to stop and help, I think, as I undo Ruby's seatbelt.

All I can think about is Moochie combusting into flames—through the windshield, I could see how badly pushed inwardsMoochie's hood is. We'd hit a tree, which is what had stopped our trajectory. I hadn't noticed that before. If we'd been going faster, I don't know what would have become of us.

"Ruby, please, are you all right to move?" I ask her, panting as I twist myself and rise to my knees in the passenger seat. My passenger side door is wedged against another tree, so there's no getting out that way.

We'd have to take Moochie's back door out, which means that Ruby needs to be able to get out of her seat. But what if she has a spinal injury?

Another car passes us and the parked Hummer, driving slowly up the road. But it doesn't stop.

I glance up in surprise, looking for the two people who had exited the Hummer…but I don't see them anymore. My stomach turns at that.

First off, there is no way that the Hummer hadn't seen us when he was trying to merge back into the lane. Not unless he was drunk, and how was that possible so early in the evening? And with such an expensive car, it would seem that you'd want to be careful.

No, honestly…it had seemed deliberate, the Hummer slamming so hard into the side of Ruby's van. I try to swallow my suspicions turn my entire attention onto Ruby, but the skin on the back of my neck is crawling.

Something don't feel right.

The Hummer's hazard lights are flashing in the darkness—Moochie's headlights had gone out.

Which, effectively, had plunged me and Ruby into darkness. Because we aren't up on the top of the hill yet, and because the sun doesn't set over the ocean, but over the land instead, we are in a pocket on the side of the hill that is much darker than it would have been elsewhere.

This, also, gives me chills. It's like this had been planned. But what the hell for?

"Ruby, please wake up," I whisper, shaking her shoulder a little.

"I'm up, I'm up," she mutter, moaning a little as she reaches up and brushes her fingertips against her forehead.

"Oh, my God, what happened?" she asks, opening her eyes wide and taking in the damage, swinging her head to the right and left. "Did I hit a deer?"

She couldn't remember. Maybe she hadn't seen the Hummer slamming into us, but if she had seen it, was the loss of memory a sign of shock? I had no idea.

If she was in shock, did that mean she had other injuries?

"No, it wasn't a deer," I mutter, glancing out the windshield again. The Hummer sits on the side of the road, hazard lights flashing away. And there is no sign of its occupants. Something is really wrong.

"Are you hurt? Can you wiggle your fingers for me, move your legs? I think we have to go," I tell her quickly, climbing over the center console of the van into the back where the groceries had spilled out of their paper bags, tomatoes and heads of lettuce rolling everywhere.

"Of course I can wiggle my damn fingers and toes," Ruby says testily. "What did we hit?"

"That Hummer hit us," I say, pointing out the windshield.

She stares at it in surprise, reaching for her seat belt—which I'd already unbuckled. "It sideswiped us?" she mutters.

Okay, so this means she probably isn't in shock, right? That she can remember the Hummer had tried to pass us was a good thing, right?

"Yeah," I tell her, biting my lip and glancing out the passenger side window of the van. "Look, Ruby, I think we really need to get out of here. In case…in case the van's engine explodes or something," I tell her quickly.

I don't want to tell her that I think something nefarious is going on. Because what if it wasn't? Ruby had no idea currently that the Mills Hotel was full of, and run by, vampires, and I thought it best to keep it that way. If, at least, for a little while longer.

And, frankly, is it really my place to tell her? Regina hadn't seemed exactly eager to reveal that fact to me, either, and was forced to, only to save my life.

"Okay, okay," she wheezed, wincing as she climbs up onto her seat and then crawls over the center console to the back of the van with me. She slips on a tomato and falls into me.

That's when I felt something wet against my hand as I reach out to steady her. "Ruby, are you hurt?" I whisper, but she grunts at me, shaking her head.

"Dunno. Let's get out of here." I lift up my hand, and—even in the meager light—I can tell my palm is slick with blood.

"Ruby, I think you're hurt," I tell her, my voice higher, but Ruby sighs at me and smiles a little tightly.

"Won't matter if Moochie explodes and turns us into hamburger," she tells me, jerking her thumb toward the back doors. "Can you get those open from the inside? Do you remember how?" She's pressing her hand to her side, where I'd reached out and touched her.

Her cardigan is black, but I can still make out the darkening stain that is soaking through her t-shirt beneath the cardigan.

"Um...um," I mutter, clenching my teeth and running my hands—one blood-stained and one not—over the back panel of the doors. Moochie is an old van, and they weren't exactly safety adept in the eighties, or whatever decade had created Moochie. The back doors open perfectly well from the outside, but inside there was a funky latch that you had to hold down while pressing outward in order for the doors to open.

Something hits the side of the van.

My heart leaps into my throat, and Ruby falls against me as the van rocks gently from side to side, the impact enough to have made two wheels on the left side leave the ground because of how hard the momentum was when we hit ground again.

There is only one small window in the rear of the van, and the two back doors have no windows. It's impossible to see what is outside, except through the windshield. Which only shows the Hummer's lights still blinking, its headlights beaming on the pavement as fog begins to move eerily across the road.

"What the hell was that?" Ruby asks, her voice high, too, as she grips me tightly. "Are we stable? We're not near the cliffs, are we?"

We are, but we aren't far enough off the road to be in danger of falling over them.

With shaking hands, I manage to undo the back latch of the doors, and then they're falling open. We're in a ditch, and the wheels aren't exactly flush with straight ground. It could have been anything that had made the van move, including earth falling against its side, but as I helped Ruby out, I looked at the driver's side of the van again.

There is a huge indent, like a meteor had fallen against the metal. There's something out here with us. And I know it's vampires.

I'd been hunted once before, and that old fear merges with my new fear now, running together through my blood as it pounds in every vein of my body. I remember the feeling of the teeth against my skin, remember the feeling of the cold water covering my head as she dragged me down into the ocean's depths to drink me dry. How she had lured me out into the sea by faking that she was drowning.

Because vampires were the most coldly intelligent predator of them all.

They were practically human.

"What's happening?" Ruby asks, holding her hand against her side as she began to pale in the darkness. "Emma—"

"We've got to go," I manage, gripping her free hand tightly and pulling her up and out of the ditch.

I'm operating on pure adrenaline now, adrenaline that makes heaving my taller best friend out of the ditch behind me something I don't even notice.

We're still far from the hotel, and we're just far enough away from the town that if we screamed, there would probably not be a single soul who heard us. Again, this is a fact that makes me think this was planned.

A little farther up or down the road, and there might have been the hope of safety for us.

Well, we'll just have to get to the hotel then before we're caught. I turn to look over my shoulder, but all I see is the Hummer's high beams, and Moochie's dead metal hulk practically on its side in the ditch.

"I think we should head up," I tell Ruby, ignoring my instinct that downhill would be much easier.

Downhill was humans. Who might be able to help us, admittedly, but uphill? Uphill was vampires who cared about us and wanted us alive. Vampires who would be very, very pissed that their treaty had been broken. If we could get to them, we'd be safe.

But that is a pretty big if.

I stare up and up and up that hill. Over the towering trees, the distant lights of the hotel brighten the sky. But I can't see the hotel itself.

If we go up the road, we'll be perfectly vulnerable, but there's the chance that a passing motorist will go by, and then we'll be able to flag them down, hopefully.

If we go up through the trees and forested areas, cutting across the roads when we absolutely have to, we'll be less vulnerable, but there'll be no hope for help until we get within earshot of the hotel.

Ruby sags against me just then, breathing out through her nose in a whoosh. I need to figure out what to do—and fast.

I take a deep breath and we start climbing. I keep glancing around furtively, holding Ruby tight around the waist as we begin our ascent up the hill through the trees.

There's so much tight underbrush and thorns and branches that haven't been cleared away probably since Storybrooke had been settled, which makes everything very slow going.

It's just light enough out that I can still make out the shapes of the trees. The encroaching fog from the ocean has already slunk into the woods, and everything kind of looks like the set of a horror movie.

But I'm certain that being hunted by a vampire isn't exactly helping my perception of the woods either.

I keep glancing back over my shoulder.

Ruby's losing a lot of blood, and her earlier awareness is beginning to slip from her. She keeps trying to walk, though, and she keeps trying to lean against me as little as possible.

We doggedly keep marching up the hill, even when my pants gets caught on a branch so hard that they rip when I couldn't untangle it, even when Ruby falls against a tree and crumples to the ground.

I lift her up, she tries to rise, and together, we kept going.

There's a sound to my left. It's innocuous, at first—I think it might be a raccoon or a deer, rustling around in the brush, but I'm also hyper-aware, and turn to look.

It's a human shadow I see, moving away into the fog. A vampire.

I hiss out my breath between my teeth and began limping farther to the right, away from the shadowy figure. I can hear the roar and crash of the ocean through the trees. Maybe it'll be easier out by the cliffs to try to make it up the hill anyway.

At least I'd have a clearer view if someone came for us. I stumble out of the woods with Ruby, and we begin to trudge up through the grasses.

Now I can see the Mills Hotel, at least its roof, but it's still so far away.

I thought that we were closer than that.

I hear another sound of breaking branches in the woods.

I figure that vampires could be pretty damn stealthy when they wanted to be. So are they breaking branches on purpose? And to what end? To terrify us to death?

If that's their reasoning, it's almost working. I keep trying to keep my breath even, but it's difficult, carrying Ruby and also feeling the terror pump through me.

What I'm trying to concentrate on, holding it tightly in my heart, is my small spark of anger.

I'm angry that they'd come after the both of us, and I'm angry that Ruby had gotten so hurt. I'm angry that if anything happens to me, it will probably also happen to my best friend, who absolutely, positively deserves none of this.

I realize in that moment, sick with fear and anger, that I should have told her that we work for vampires. I should have told her everything.

But I hadn't, and now she's going to die. We both are.

I take another deep breath and move a few more feet before the sound of breaking branches has grown so strong that I have to turn and look.

There are two figures standing in the mist on the edge of the woods. They dart into the shadows when I glance their way, but I'd seen them.

They were so close when they darted away. They could have lunged forward and grabbed both of us. But they didn't.

I take a deep breath and stray even further into the grasses, toward a deer path on the edge of the cliff face. Far, far, far down below me, the roll and hiss of the surf hitting the beach is a soothing lull. The tide is coming in.

Overhead, the moon swings low, and stars are beginning to pop out of the black-blue of the sky. It's, by all accounts, an utterly beautiful autumn night.

I don't want to die.

I don't want Ruby to die.

Not here. Not like this. Not now.

And not because of me.

A sob sticks in my throat, but I keep going, keep dragging Ruby along.

She's gone unconscious now, and she's leaning entirely on my shoulder, her feet dragging along behind us.

I'm gripping her around the waist with such force that I'm probably breaking a rib, but if I let even a little tension in my arm go now, I'll drop her entirely—my arm is too stiff.

I push her up further on my shoulder, trying to get her to drape over my shoulder and back, wondering if it'll be easier to carry her like that.

When out of the mist to our left again come two shadows, darting forward. I stumble to the right—far closer to the cliff face than I ever want to go. I take a deep breath, spreading my feet wide, and trying to take a crouching stance as I hold Ruby tightly.

Being this close to the edge is playing tricks with my head. Far down below, the ocean pounds the land in a constant rhythm that never stops, the sound rushing like my blood through my body. It's too dark and foggy now to see the figures very clearly, but I can see that they're fast and they're almost upon us.

Until, at the very last moment, they veer. And the two figures disappear, turning and bolting back into the woods.

I chance a glance to my right.

I'm a single foot away from the edge of the cliff.

It's then that I realize what they were trying to do. They're herding us off the cliff face.

I take a deep breath as panic rolls through me, just like the adrenaline.

They don't want to drain us dry—they want us to fall to our deaths. But why? To make it look like an accident? So that, technically, they won't be breaking the treaty? I hate them so much in that moment.

Why are they hunting us? They aren't even after us for our blood! Do they want us dead just for some murderous, sick reason, or is there a more calculating, premeditated one?

Had someone put them up to this, and—if so—who wants us dead? God, there are at least a few vampires who don't like me very much.

I swallow and tighten my hold around Ruby.

I'm not going to be pushed off this cliff.

If they want us dead, they're going to have to do it themselves. I begin to walk back toward the woods again and away from the cliff face.

And the figures came out of the shadows, close enough to see.

One is a man, tall and burly with a long leather trench coat on. He has long, black hair pulled back into a ponytail. The other is a redheaded woman, wearing a knee-length peacoat and tall boots.

Their hands are in their pockets, but in the darkness, I can still tell that they're smiling. And that they have very sharp teeth.

They said nothing as they approach us. They don't have to.

Their intimidating presence pushes me back, but I refuse to move.

I stand as fast as I can, holding tight to Ruby as my heart rises into my throat. There is nowhere for me to run.

I'm not going to leave my best friend behind, and I definitely not going to throw both of us off the cliff.

I stand still, and I try to take deep, even breaths as terror pours through me.

"I'm sorry," I whisper then.

To Ruby. To Elsa.

And to Regina.

With one last sob I close my eyes, take a deep breath and try to brace myself against the pain that's going to be inevitable and final and absolute.

* * *

_**A/N: ...THE END!... **_

_**Hahaha just kidding! **_

_**What do you guys think is going to happen next?**_

_**Comment and let me know your feelings towards it! **_

_**XoXoX - TheLoveOfApples**_


	31. Chapter 31

_**A/N: WARNING! Semi-graphic violence ahead.**_

* * *

_I close my eyes, take a deep breath and try to brace myself against the pain that is going to be inevitable and final and absolute..._

When nothing happens after a long moment, I build up enough courage to open one eye.

The two vampires are turning to the right, their noses tipped up to the wind, their nostrils widening. They're sniffing the air like wolves do, I realize. Like they scent something interesting.

It happens so quickly that if I hadn't been staring at the right vampire, the woman, I never would have believed that it happened. The woman had been standing, hands burrowed deep into her coat pockets, her nose to the wind, and then she wasn't there anymore.

She was rolling end over end, someone on top of her.

The man goes down just as quickly. The fog and the darkness make seeing details almost impossible, but I could see bits and pieces of the vampires and their assailants turning end over end in the dark, and I hear the man's snarl.

It makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up it's so savage and low, but then I hear another voice.

A voice I would recognize anywhere.

In one smooth motion, they move close enough for me to see.

And it's Regina.

Pinning the man down to the earth by his throat.

And everything has suddenly become still.

She crouches over him, pinning him to the spot in the coarse salt grass, her knee pointedly pressing on his chest and pushing down with such force that I hear a rib break beneath her as her lips curl up at the edges in a snarl.

The man cries out in pain, but Regina only tightens her hold on his massive neck, her knuckles growing even whiter, and he's silenced.

To the side, Elsa rises from the ground, holding the woman's hands behind her back in an elaborate corkscrew that couldn't have felt great for that vampire.

Elsa looks past the man, looks past Regina. Her eyes fall on me, and if I hadn't been holding up Ruby, I would have taken a step back.

She looks utterly feral. Wild.

Dangerous.

"What did you do," Elsa hisses, and even though they're a distance away at this point, and her voice is soft and low, I still heard her clearly.

The cold, sharp anger in her voice carries to where I stand with Ruby.

I glance back at Regina, but she isn't looking my way. She's bearing the full weight of her violently dark gaze down to the man on the ground.

"Who do you work for?" Regina asks then, her voice a prolonged growl that makes me shiver with both fear and a small amount of arousal.

She loosens her grip around the man's neck to allow him to speak, but he simply shakes his head. And then, moving faster than my eyes can follow, the man rolls out from under her, rising in a fluid motion that I assume only a large predator, like a tiger, would make.

Regina rolls over easily where he'd displaced her and lands lightly on the balls of her feet in a crouch.

The man takes one look over his shoulder at her before he bolts toward the tree line. And Regina follows him like a lioness who's about to fell her prey.

And she does.

Regina hits the man squarely in the back, and they roll end over end again together before darting between the trees.

In the stillness and rush of the ocean below, the scuffle in the woods ends and I hear a great cracking sound.

Regina walks slowly out from between the trees.

There's a ragged cut in her suit shirt, her jacket is nowhere to be seen, and through the hole in the shirt, I can clearly see the gaping wound in her stomach. But there's no blood that seeps out of the wound. It's clean and dry, just wet flesh peeled back and open. And, as I watch it, as she prowls toward us, the wound begins to knit together and heal itself, lacing itself up like a corset of flesh.

The man, presumably, is dead.

So much had just happened. So much.

I want Regina to catch my eyes, to—with that one, simple glance—tell me that everything is all right now. That we're safe.

But as I watch the wound knit up on Regina's stomach, I realize how much I don't know about her. How much I don't know about any of them.

She had dispatched that man so quickly, so effortlessly. I couldn't imagine that.

But Regina does not look at me as she stalks past Ruby and I. She has eyes only for the woman Elsa holds tightly.

Regina's gaze is more dangerous than I'd ever seen it before. Her eyes are narrowed, but in the darkness, I can still see them flashing with a deep, frozen rage.

And as she approaches the woman, the one who bares the brunt of her cold and terrifying eyes, the woman falls to her knees, shaking.

"I'll tell you, I'll tell you," she whimpers, wincing as Elsa tightens her grip on her arms.

She licks her lips, eyes darting from Regina, to me, and then back to Regina again. She looks terrified, but she opens her mouth and says: "Cora. It was Cora."

Regina stops as suddenly as if she'd run into an invisible wall.

Cora? Why was Cora such a familiar name?

It meant something, something terrible, but I couldn't think of what it reminded me of. Not yet.

Elsa glances at Regina, her own eyes wide as she shakes her head with a slow, measured rhythm.

"That's impossible," snarls Elsa, tightening her grip on the vampire's arms again. I hear something snap wetly in the vampire, but the woman makes no sound other than grinding her teeth together. She pants as she crouches there, sighing out.

"I swear," the vampire woman whimpers again. "It was Cora who contracted us. She set up everything. She said that if Emma was dead, the Mills' would be weak, and then…" She drifts off into silence, glancing up at Regina.

Regina's long, cold fingers curl into fists, and she slowly lifts her chin.

In that single moment, the woman flicks her gaze up to me, and in that heartbeat, I see her lip curl, if ever so slightly.

That's the only warning we get before she jerks away from Elsa, to the right, a direction that Elsa wasn't expecting, because her grip on the vampire loosens enough for the her to roll forward, out of Elsa's grasp.

But the vampire woman doesn't bolt for the line of trees towards escape. She bolts toward _me_.

I don't know what to do, but it doesn't matter either way because it's too quick for me to react or, really, do anything, anyway.

I take a quick breath and simply brace myself for impact.

I have the presence of mind to let go of Ruby, and she falls to the side, slumping against the ground, but she's at least out of harm's way.

The vampire woman is going to hit me, and we'll roll together, end over end, and we're close enough to the cliff face that I would fall down off of it, if I wasn't bitten first. I am going to die.

But I don't.

The woman, close enough for her fingernails to gouge a crescent moon pattern out of my shoulder, is caught out of mid-air by Regina.

Regina who moves faster than any living creature is capable of.

And, as I watch, Regina moves her hands from the woman's shoulders up to the woman's head. And in one smooth, fluid motion, twists the woman's skull in her hands, jerking the neck to the side.

I hear a sickening, wet snap, and the woman falls limply at Regina's feet, as boneless as a marionette whose strings are no longer pulled. She is dead.

"Oh, my God," I whisper, but Regina is at my side then, her cold arm around my waist, still not looking into my eyes.

She glances out at sea, and I catch something deep in the depths of her dark gaze. Something I can't quite place. Regina Mills, I'd thought, felt no fear. But, in that moment, she looks afraid.

I allow myself, for only that moment, to wonder if she'd fearing my death.

Regina clears her throat and glances down at me and Ruby, shaking her head slightly.

"We must get you inside. It's not safe out here," she growls, and then Elsa is on the other side of me, and she gently picks up Ruby in her arms, hefting her up like she weighs nothing, Ruby's limbs and head dangling over Elsa's shoulder.

I can't remember much about the climb up the hill after we get to the hotel. I'm in a state of shock, of exhaustion, but I know that I hold my own as Regina's tender arm helps steer me and on occasion hold me up.

We climb together, slowly, up the rest of the hill, and when we hit the level land of the hotel's parking lot, Regina jerks her chin toward the side door that leads down to the basement kitchen.

"Ruby's bleeding," she tells Elsa tightly, and the blonde nods once.

The vampires would scent us, I realize with a light head as Regina takes us down through the kitchens.

Treaty or no treaty, could a vampire, who wasn't a Mills, control him or herself when there was so much blood present?

There's no one at the stove or the counters in the kitchen—they're all deserted. There's also no one out in the basement hallway or staircase that lead up to the front hall of the hotel, so we meet no one on our journey up to the lobby.

"Ruby's really hurt. She needs a doctor," I tell Regina, as I glance over at my best friend, at the pallid cast to her face, how slick with sweat her skin is, how brightly colored the blood seems on her soaked through T-shirt now that there's enough light to see by.

"We were in an accident," I manage, gripping Regina's arm now. "Her van's totaled. They pushed us off the road."

"I'll take her to the doctor in town," Elsa offers, straightening a little and glancing at me with soft eyes. "You're safe here now, Emma. Stay in my rooms. When I come back, we'll settle this, all right? Find out who's responsible? Don't worry."

Even though she's holding Ruby, Elsa manages to step forward somehow and hold my gaze as her shoulder presses against mine companionably.

"We'll be back soon, the both of us. Ruby'll be all right," she says as she leans forward, and then her cold lips are pressed against mine.

My heart is roaring through me, and as it roars, I can feel it tearing in two, right down the middle.

Because Elsa's mouth is against mine as Regina's arm is around my waist. I am held in the middle of two women that I care so much about. And, no matter what I do, I was going to hurt them. Perhaps both of them, perhaps one of them. But their pain is inevitable. As is mine.

Elsa turns on her heel and is down the corridor and out the front door before I can even blink.

Ruby will be all right, I know. I hope.

She has to be. She can't be in trouble because of me. She has to be alright.

Regina's jaw works as she gazes steadily at the floor, at the red and black tiles of the hotel's front hall...and not at me. "Let's get you up to Elsa's rooms, then," she says softly.

And that's when I snap.

I'd just been in an accident.

I'd just been hunted.

Pure instinct had taken over.

"No," I tell her, and I reach up and grip her shoulders, trying to catch her gaze.

I hold her dark brown eyes with my own and I swallow. I'm shaking.

"I can't do this," I tell her. "Everything's not as it should be."

I don't even know what that means, but it's how I feel, the truest truth inside of me.

"Please tell me that you feel it, too," I beg her softly.

"What's going on?"

I stiffen, my blood turning to ice in my veins. Danielle.

She's walking down the Widowmaker, the staircase that—on the very first morning of being at the Mills Hotel—Regina had saved me from falling down and breaking my neck.

Regina was, after all, always saving me, in both small and big ways.

But now, here was this woman who had somehow, miraculously, reappeared to take from me that which, admittedly, had never belonged to me…but that which I'd hoped with my whole heart could be mine, if I tried hard enough.

But I hadn't even been able to try.

Danielle had taken everything away from me. And now she's walking down the steep staircase as if she's a tightrope walker, as if she knows those steps intimately.

And she does, I realize.

She's lived in the hotel much, much longer than me.

I take a deep breath and step away from Regina, feeling utterly defeated. Feeling my heart break and crumble inside of me, into something that can never, ever be put back together again.

But as I turn to go back down the hallway of paintings, of red and black tile, away from the woman who calls to me like a gravity…I'm stopped.

Cold, lovely fingers curl around my wrist, holding me in place.

Regina.

When I turn back to look at her, my heart catches in my throat.

Her eyes are soft, as they gaze into mine. The brown of them is melted around the edges, like chocolate.

And, as I watch, Regina Mills, the strongest woman I've ever known in my whole life, lets a single tear fall from her left eye which traces a path across her perfect cheekbone and olive skin, drifting down to her chin and falling away into the darkness of the hallway.

"Danielle," Regina says then, her low, gravelly voice strong and clear and unwavering.

She turns to look at the woman who's paused on the staircase, the woman who stares at me with shrewd, narrowed eyes, arms crossed, waiting.

We were all waiting. I hold my breath. This can't possibly be happening.

But then it does.

"Danielle, I can't do this anymore. I am so very, very sorry," Regina says, standing even straighter, glancing up the staircase at the woman who had been her soulmate, the woman she had never forgotten as she slipping into sadness over the days, weeks, months and years of the century that Regina had mourned her loss.

This was the woman Regina had promised her entire being to.

But she gazes at this woman, now, and she breathes out. "I don't know what's happened to you," she murmurs, her low words soft and gentle as she continues, "and I can't fathom the things that you have gone through in the time that we were apart. I'm so sorry you experienced that pain and darkness. I did everything I could to keep it from you, and I failed in that. But the connection that we had has been severed. You have become someone cruel and unkind and that is not the woman I knew or loved. The connection that I felt, that I mourned all these years, no longer exists between us. Please forgive me," she says, her voice catching and breaking at the end. "But we can't be together."

Danielle's eyes flash dangerously dark as she turns and glances down at me now.

"Is it because of her?" she asks, her voice chillingly calm.

"What has she done to you? What has she told you?" she hisses, descending the last few steps to stand on the level with us, her hands clenched into immoveable fists at her sides.

"Did she seduce you?" Danielle draws herself up to her full height, and her words turn utterly imperious. "Have you slept with Emma?" she asks then, her voice almost a whisper.

"No," Regina says, her voice breaking again. "I would never do anything like that to you, Danielle—I would never betray you. I have only ever been faithful to you. You and only you. But I do not think we should try to conform something that existed a century ago into something our hearts no longer want. I know," she says, raising her chin and holding Danielle's gaze, "that you no longer feel the same way about me as you used to. That you do not want me like you used to. And there is no crime in that, no shame. We did our best to try again, and it was not meant to be. And we must accept that. It's over."

I expected Danielle to be upset. Perhaps to say that they needed another chance, that they needed to try again. I could feel Regina wavering as she held tightly to my wrist, as tightly as a drowning woman would grip a lifeline.

I know that she doesn't want to cause Danielle pain. I know that feeling all too well.

If Danielle wept at this moment, if she asked for another chance, Regina would grant her that.

But she does nothing of the sort.

She tilts her head to the side, her eyes flashing cruelly. "It is not so easy, Regina Mills, to break a vow of love. A vow that has lasted over one hundred years. I will not forget this betrayal. And, in time, you will wish you had not done this."

And then in one, fluid motion, she turns and climbs back up the staircase so quickly, that I jump out of my skin.

Danielle contorts her limbs and climbs up the staircase like a spider, dragging her dress after her, the crimson thing flowing upward like blood gone wrong.

In a moment, she is gone, but her darkness lingers in the air for a handful of breaths as I stand there, stunned.

Danielle had just threatened Regina.…But it doesn't matter. Nothing else matters in that scrap of a moment. Because we stand together, Regina and I.

Regina still holding tightly to my wrist, like she's never going to let it go.

And, it dawns on me as I stare down at her cold fingers wrapped around my skin, that she won't have to, ever again.

Regina had told Danielle it was over.

I glance up into Regina's face, at the war of emotions that rage just beneath the surface of her cold skin.

Her eyes are dark, and when they gaze into mine, they don't see me, not really, not for a long moment.

But then she comes back to me.

And another tear traces itself down Regina's cheek as she steps forward quickly, wrapping her hands around my waist, drawing me to her like we're one creature, not two.

When I breath out into the darkness of that cold hallway, my breath hangs between us like smoke.

I inhale again, inhaling the scent that is Regina, the cigarettes and the cinnamon and vanilla and un-nameable spice that clings to her cold skin.

I stare up into those captivating brown eyes, those eyes that hold me and only me in that moment.

Her gaze is fierce and predatory and wholly mine as she pins me to the spot with eyes so dark that I drown in them.

"Forgive me," Regina says, then, before she leans down gracefully, and in a heartbeat I could never have predicted, her mouth meets mine in a searing kiss that seems to last forever.

* * *

_**A/N: Yayy! :D I told you guys they would be together! It was just a bit of a rocky road to get there. A lot happened in this chapter, with the attack and the revelation of Cora, and our two lovely ladies finally getting together.****What did you all think?**_

_**Side-note #1: This was the last chapter I had ready, so I'm not entirely sure when the next update will be, especially with school starting, I'm going to have to give most of my attention to that :\ **__**BUT! if you go through withdrawal while I'm away, you can always re-read the whole thing ;P**_

_**Side-note #2: If anyone would like to follow me on Tumblr my handle is **__**TheLoveOfApples, just like my author name. PS: I will follow you back!**_

_**(ALSO! Go read my other fics **_**You'll Always Have Me _and _Karaoke Night, **_**I feel bad for neglecting them so much after starting this story lol)**_

_**Until the next update, I love you all! **_

_**XoXoX - TheLoveOfApples**_


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